


Dazzling and Tremendous

by alilactree



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alilactree/pseuds/alilactree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sexy bucket list and NYC in the summertime</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The paper slips from the yellowed pages of the book; dog-eared and corners bent, cover ripped, sweet, strange perfume of old glue and paper and the memory of verses read and reread and held close to the heart.

He folds the paper, spreads it creased and wrinkled on the bedspread. Mad Naked Summer scrawled in Kurt’s handwriting across the top. Blaine smiles to himself. The summer of sexual experimentation. He flushes with tingling warmth at their youth and enthusiasm, even through missteps and mistakes. Kurt stammering and red-faced and bravely pushing past his insecurities and both of them naive and inexperienced.

That was a good summer.

He calls out, “Hey, Kurt?”

Abandoning the book shelf reorganization project for now: a cardboard box for donating the duplicates that result from combining their collections, stacks on the floor ready to be shelved by type, then author.

Kurt, in thin linen short and nothing else, skin gleaming with sweat from rearranging furniture to something that fits “more of a couple aesthetic” plops onto the bed with a bottle of wine in one hand.

“Look what I found,” he grins and takes a swig from the open bottle, stretches his neck and entices Blaine with pursed lips, tart taste of his mouth.

His lips are cool, his tongue less so, but not nearly as stifling as the apartment. There’s no point in trying to put in an air conditioning unit, not with the wide open space of the loft, and the oscillating fans only do so much. Wearing very little clothing would seem like a logical way to keep cool, but actually keeps having the opposite effect.

Kurt pulls away with a hum, takes another pull and swallow from the bottle and passes it to Blaine.

Blaine drinks, a fruity refreshing white that only stokes the heat in his belly when it settles there. “Look what I found.”

Kurt falls to an elbow, eyebrows flat as he reads the paper between them. Then the slow spread of a grin. “That was a fun summer.”

“It was,” Blaine agrees.

They’ve gotten older, and better and wiser. Stronger for the storms that blew through them and bent them and tried to drown them in the violent swell. But never did. He wouldn’t go back to that time, before. Before they knew just how strong they were. Are. But oh, to be so young, experiencing some of those heady firsts. He wouldn’t mind.

Kurt drinks and he drinks, and Kurt stretches out on his back, long and languorous, milky skin and tussled hair, sun through the windows lighting shadows on his face. The wine rests with a thud on the ground, and Blaine tucks his face along the broad expanse of Kurt’s chest, nose in the hollowed curve of his throat and inhales.

“I wish I had a word,” Blaine says into his dewy skin, “for what you smell like.”

“Success and high fashion?” Kurt jokes, though he’s gone breathy, body moving like liquid beneath Blaine.

“No,” his mouth on Kurt’s skin, he doesn’t laugh because he’s very, very serious and drunk on wine and intoxicated on Kurt.

It’s like air thick with petrichor just before a spring rain. Like something oaky and masculine and earthy. Musk of sex, tang of sweat, sweet and sharp in turns and all at once. He smells like sighing into the pillow on his bed, the indefinable scent of home.

What would he call that? He doesn’t know, so he breathes it in and holds it in his lungs and keeps it there as long as he can.

“We should do it,” Kurt says, fingers scratching up and down Blaine back, shirt twisting in his grip, his nails scraping across Blaine’s hot skin.

“Yeah that was kind of the plan,” Blaine says, nudges his hardening cock on Kurt’s thigh.

“No, I mean- Well, yes, but-” He breathes out in something like impatience and exasperation, wiggles and scoots and get Blaine’s hips set just right against his own. “I mean the list. We should do that again.”

Blaine pushes and pulls at the stretchy waistband of his shorts, tilts one hip up to get at Kurt’s button and zipper, opens them to nothing else beneath, just his beautiful swollen cock rising from a nest of dark wiry hair, balls hanging delicate between his legs. Blaine wants to worship him, but he’s slow and clumsy from the heat and the wine, so he settles for lining them up, slick and so warm.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “Yes.”

There’s no real rush, no building up, no chasing an ending. Just Kurt’s body and his body, Kurt’s mouth on his, groans and humid breath and muscles undulating, cocks rutting.

“Okay.” Kurt pushes at his shoulder, moves from underneath him and sits up to get his phone from the little shelf next the bed. “Who went first last time?”

Blaine is- Not really able to think about much of anything, let alone who went first on a sexy summer bucket list years ago. Not with Kurt’s lips kissed red and his hair a wreck and his cock jutting up from his lap, bare and with a single beaded drop of moisture resting in the slit.

“You go,” Blaine says, licks his lips and mostly wants to get it over with.

Kurt types something on his phone, somehow manages to look adorably bashful, despite currently looking like the physical embodiment of sin and lust.

“Number one: sex toys,” Kurt says, blushes as his cock jumps in his lap and the clear fluid leaks down the vein on the shaft.

Blaine has never been more grateful for the dulling effects of alcohol, sure that he could take his own exposed cock in his fist and pump once and this would all be over. But as it is he squeezes at the base, watches Kurt’s eyes flicker with the movement, throat bobbing as he swallows and croaks out, “Your turn.”

“Um.” God, he can’t- Closes his eyes and tries to think. He has this fantasy he likes to use when he’s getting off just to get off, in the shower or if Kurt is working late. Back when they were miles apart. Way back to their first prom when he’d come over his fist and feel a little abashed still, not sure if or when it would even happen. “You in a kilt.”

“Yeah?” The grin this time is sly, knowing. Kurt leans back and takes Blaine in: heaving chest and hard cock and low-sweeping eyes.

“Please let me suck you off now.” Blaine crawls forward, lifts and parts Kurt’s knees, crouches there.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He puts a pillow between his back and the wall, phone and list set aside for now.

Blaine settles on his belly, Kurt snagging Blaine’s shorts on the way, resting now under the curves of his ass. Blaine watches as Kurt’s eyes follow the shift and pull of his body, the way his back bends and bows, tucks his knees just enough make his body curve and dip.

Closes his eyes and finds Kurt by smell and touch and taste, pungent and hot and salty here. Kurt’s cock between his lips, against his tongue. He slides down, sucks back up. Licks and suckles and does it again. Kurt cries out, hips going up when Blaine lifts his head.

Blaine thrusts his hips against the bed and Kurt whimpers. Cradles Kurt’s balls in his cupped palm and Kurt curses. Relaxes his throat and widens his jaw and takes him deep and Kurt’s body snaps rigid and he yanks on Blaine’s hair and spills into Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine keeps him there, holds him in his mouth with every throb, every gush, brings his knees up higher, touches himself until Kurt hauls him up.

“Let me… Fuck…” Still gasping for breath and pulls at Blaine’s cock so close so close so close, comes across Kurt’s broad chest and heaving stomach and dark wiry hair beneath.

Blaine strips off his shirt, hikes up his shorts and puts Kurt back together, cleans him off and settles next to him, head on his shoulder, happily buzzed and deeply satisfied.

“Mad Naked Summer take two?” Kurt asks.

“Yeah, but we need to come up with the other stuff while you’re flossing or something. Back then I think I was more practiced at holding back with you.”

“Are you trying to say my flossing isn’t sexy?”

“I’m trying to say…” Blaine turns his head and bites at Kurt’s jaw. “That you are irresistible.”

“Well,” Kurt shuffles over the the edge of the bed. “You’ll have to resist me long enough to let me shower. It’s disgustingly hot in here.” He stands and strips, and it’s moments like that, Kurt naked boldly and unashamed, even gives Blaine a saucy little shimmy, that’s how he knows they aren’t those kids any more.

He can’t wait to see what this summer brings.


	2. Chapter 2

When Blaine turns his laptop so Kurt can see the page with Best Selling Fetish Kits! in giant black letters on the top of the screen over scrambled eggs one morning, Kurt blushes and drops a blob of eggs into his lap and in a rush says, “Let’s go to an actual store, for an authentic experience,” he knows as soon as the words have left his mouth that he will live to regret them.

It doesn’t take very long at all.

The store looks a little sketchy from the outside, frosted windows and flashing neon sign. But when they walk in it’s refreshingly cool and cozy and well lit and really more like a boutique.

“It’s adorable,” Blaine enthuses, and Kurt wouldn’t normally give that label to a store with an entire wall of dildos in a variety of shapes and sizes and colors, but it sort of is adorable.

They must stand there in the middle of the store for a little too long, because the pretty young woman with long black hair and pink polka dot dress asks if they need any help.

“No,” Kurt says immediately, just as Blaine grins and chirps, “Yes, that would be great!”

Kurt leaves him to it, wanders around by himself as they chat amiably. There are other people, a group of women who giggle occasionally, several people browsing quietly like him. He stops in front of the book section, had no idea there was so much literature out there.

He picks up one called “Sex: How to do everything,” because that’s certainly comprehensive, and looks over his shoulder.

Where he spots the sales girl giving Blaine some sort of silicone spiky purple thing that he slides onto his index finger and wiggles around like he’s putting on a puppet show. Kurt looks to the ceiling for help, finds none and sets the book back down.

He turns and walks past the videos to what looks like a fairly innocent section with massage oils and candles and some edible body paints, feathers and silk scarves and this is more along the lines of what he was looking for. But then he finds riding crops and leather whips and metal nipple clamps, feels a little out of his element and a lot overwhelmed and it’s got to be 90 degrees in this place, god why is it so stifling.

He finds Blaine, tugs him away from a conversation that appears to be about cockrings and hisses, “I changed my mind, let’s go.”

Blaine frowns and tilts his head and does that annoying thing with eyes where Kurt finds him hopelessly endearing. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe. It’s just a lot? I don’t what I was expecting.”

“Hey, we’ll leave if you’re uncomfortable.” Blaine takes his hand and sweetly smiles, damn him. “But I think you were right. Alice was really helpful and super nice, so I may have ideas. If you want to look a little bit longer.”

Kurt sighs, “fine,” and sticks close to Blaine as they walk hand in hand to the other side of the store.

There is something thrilling and incredibly validating about being in a store with his fiance, looking at sex toys, and no one even batting an eye. That they aren’t just embracing their desires and intimacy, but celebrating it.

They stop in front of a selection of soft vibrators in more unusual shapes, long and curved and bulbous at the tip.

“What are these?” Kurt dares to ask.

“So I told Alice how we were looking for new experiences, but nothing too out there and she recommended these. Apparently they sell really well. They’re like, massagers. But for men, you know.” Blaine widens his eyes and jerks his head back to waggle his eyebrows at Kurt’s backside.

“Blaine,” Kurt looks around them, finds them mostly alone.

“Sorry, did you want me to call them vibrating anal stimulators?”

“No,” Kurt pulls his hand away and crosses his arms. “Stop teasing me.”

Blaine laughs and darts in to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry you’re just so cute.”

“Whatever. I saw those masturbation sleeves. I have options.”

It’s not like he’s shy about sex itself or having sex or even talking about it these days, mostly, but in private. It’s so personal and important and he’d sort of underestimated how difficult it would be to do this in public.

But fine, this was his idea and he has never been one to back away from a challenge, not even when that challenge is a “Naughty Boy Prostate Massager.”

So he reaches out and grabs the first one he touches which is-

“Wow a big one. Okay.” Blaine says.

Kurt winces and puts that one back. “What did uh-” Kurt looks over to the cash register where Blaine’s new best friend is ringing up the still giggling group of women.

“Alice,” Blaine provides.

“What did Alice recommend?”

Blaine scans the items, humming a little under his breath until he gives a little noise of triumph and reaches for a smaller, sleek, and actually very nice looking black massager.

“A little pricey, but.” He shrugs, turns it over and to the side and wrinkles his nose at it.

“Okay, then let’s get more lube and get the hell out of here.” He doesn’t even make Blaine carry it, just marches up to the front and asks Alice for her finest lubricant, looks her right in the eye even.

“Aw, but I wanted to look at the ball gags,” Blaine says, with a pinch to his side as Alice scans their purchases, then tosses a handful of sample packs of flavored lube into the bag.

Kurt slides him a look through narrowed eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

When they get it home, get everything ready and both of them on the bed and undressed, it’s Blaine’s turn to get overwhelmed.

“Are you just gonna stick it in?” He asks with round eyes and and downturned lips, looks a lot like a bashful schoolboy, fidgety and nervous, minus the whole naked on his back with his legs bent and spread.

“No, I was thinking I’d have it do a little song and dance number first.” Kurt dances the vibrator through the air to a cheerful tune.

“Haha,” Blaine says dryly. “But seriously, can we work up to it maybe?”

Kurt’s chest feels warm and he smiles down at him, puts the lube and vibrator to the side and drops down to hover over Blaine’s body, then sets to work on kissing him breathless.

Blaine’s body twines around his as Kurt kisses across his jaw to nibble on his ear, down below and sucks red marks into his neck. Licks and sucks around one nipple, then the other, and Blaine is writhing and humping against Kurt’s thigh so he figures that’s good enough, sits back on his haunches and asks, “Ready?”

Blaine presses his lips flat, and his eyebrows flatter, twists his fingers in the sheets and sort of looks like he’s bracing himself for a polio vaccination.

“Ready.”

The toy is tapered and curved with a little protruding nub at the end so Kurt plans on pushing it in slowly and stretching Blaine as he goes, uses the new fancy lube to get everything slippery, shuffles forward on his knees and sets the nub just at Blaine’s hole, lifts one knee up and back.

It feels like a strange out of body sort of experience, watching Blaine be slowly fucked open but without the tight heat of him on Kurt’s fingers or his cock or even his tongue. Kurt can pay attention to every single detail: The way Blaine thrashes his head to the right when he lets out a sharp gasp. The way his mouth parts so soft and wet when he moans that Kurt just has to lean forward and kiss him again.

The way his whole body jolts when the toy is pressed in deep, the way his face scrunches when he grits out a string of curses. How incredibly beautiful Blaine is when he blinks open those thick-lashed eyes and stretches his throat long and moans Kurt’s name from deep in his chest.

“Good?” Kurt asks, strokes his own cock just to get a little relief, and Blaine nods and swallows.

“It’s a lot. Like- I don’t know. A lot.” He shifts his hips, then closes his eyes and groans, “There, oh god.”

So Kurt keeps it there, even as Blaine thrashes and his knees spread even wider and he throws his arms up over his head and grips white-knuckled to the pillow, biceps and forearms bulging with tight muscles and thick veins.

“Should I turn it on?” Kurt asks, and Blaine just pants at him so he pushes the little button until it clicks.

“Holy shit,” Blaine says on an exhale, a low buzzing filling the room, his eyes shut tight as he gets used to the sensation. If nothing else, he looks amazing; all spread open on the toy, his muscles balled and trembling, and he’s so hard even though Kurt hasn’t touched him there yet, spills clear fluid from the slit and down to Blaine’s belly.

“Oh my god,” Kurt says.

It’s like he’s coming but not, stays hard and pulsing and he’s moaning almost nonstop now, just gush after gush after gush until he finally grits out, “touch me touch me, please, it’s so much,” keeps babbling words loosened from his throat like a tidal wave.

Kurt holds the toy and curls his fingers around Blaine’s cock so slick so warm so hard, strokes him just a little and wishes he had a third hand to jerk himself; the spread of Blaine’s body divine, sinewy tremulous muscles, face lax and clenching and lax again. Kurt watches and gluts himself on Blaine, on lust, on love. Blaine cries out again and again, thick white come now hot over Kurt’s fingers, he shudders and shakes apart and finally slumps boneless on the bed.

Kurt takes the toy out slowly, releases Blaine’s spent cock, slings his legs over and just pushes into his body with one smooth stroke, Blaine’s body just yields to it, lax and loose, heavy eyes and limbs. Kurt spares a brief, fleeting thought to this lube being worth every single penny, before he’s losing himself to fucking Blaine hard and fast, Blaine’s legs dropping uselessly, pushed higher and higher up the bed as Kurt’s hips piston and then he’s coming and collapsing on Blaine’s chest in a sweaty, tangled heap.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Blaine finally says, minutes later.

Kurt heaves himself up and off, tacky skin sticking together a little. “Eh. We’ll deal.”

Blaine stretches his legs out, jostling the toy where Kurt dropped it on the bed. “Easy for you to say.”

“What was it like?” Kurt sits up to get the towel they actually remembered to put by the bed along with a bottle of water. He cleans his hand and tosses the towel onto Blaine’s stomach, drinks half the water and tosses that over too.

“How about we take a bath and a dessert break and I’ll show you?”

Kurt hums and preens and says, “I have the best ideas,” the squawks when Blaine throws the soiled towel at his head.

“We have the best ideas.”

“Fine, fine. So, item number one on the list, check?”

Blaine sits up, all sexily mussed and thoroughly ravished and grins, “Check.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’s doing it on purpose. Blaine knows. Kurt knows he knows. Kurt relishes knowing. He took it out to steam the wrinkles, the same exact kilt from a prom that seems to be both in the distant past and like it happened just a heartbeat ago. Dug it out from god knows where and hung it clipped to a hanger, then hooked it the rod for their room partition right at the spot where they walk in. The bottom hem brushes Blaine’s neck and shoulder whenever he walks into the room and it’s driving him absolutely crazy.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Blaine says, after Kurt has taken it down and pressed it to his waist, hummed and then put it right back for the dozenth time.

“Am I?” Kurt says, with his voice high and breathy and one shoulder lifted up coy. He still doesn’t put it on, just strides past the curtain with his hips swinging far more than necessary and Blaine would consider a pledge of abstinence for a little while in protest, but well. Kurt is swinging his hips and walking away and Blaine is only so strong.

Blaine tries pleading with wide, sad eyes, “Kurt, please,” as Kurt gets dressed in the morning, considers the kilt, looks right at Blaine and wears something else. The fantasy is starting to consume his daily thoughts and haunt his dreams and he’s this close to just manhandling Kurt into the damn thing and getting it over with only- He knows when Kurt draws something out, teases like this, he’s working up to something. Something entirely worth the wait.

Of course it is, Kurt puts it on finally late one evening, the loft dark and cool in the evening and lit with softly glowing lamps and desk lights. Kurt wears the kilt with leather boots laced tightly up his calves, a thin button up with a vest over it. The overall effect making his waist impossibly narrow and trim, his shoulders broad, his chest wide. His legs look miles long, bare knees and bare thighs peeking out as he walks around the loft gathering keys and wallet and phone because he is wearing this outfit to a fancy Vogue dot com function and Blaine is not going to survive. Not all of him.

Blaine sits on the bed in his deep burgundy suit, watches Kurt, all long gorgeous lines and swishing kilt and says to his lap, “Goodbye old friend. It’s been great.”

“Are you talking to your penis?” Kurt stops in front of him, hands on hips, one eyebrow arched.

“Nope.” Blaine says, looking up. “Yes.”

“Well if you two are done with your discussion we should probably get going.” He curls his mouth into a wicked little grin, says, “How do I look?” and spins around.

The kilt flies up a little around him, reminding Blaine that underneath he’s not wearing leggings or pants. “Kurt,” Blaine groans, and slides off the bed and onto his knees. “You’re killing me.”

He laughs, a low dark thing, and tugs Blaine up by the wrists, then hooks his arm through Blaine’s elbow. He leans in to whisper in Blaine’s ear after they pull the door closed, “Good things come to those who wait.”

Blaine sips water out of elegant glass bottles, nibbles on hors d’oeuvres that are clearly designed with fashion as a priority over function he thinks, as he chews a pesto and parmigiano sprinkled cherry tomato half, wishes for those little hot dogs or anything wrapped in bacon and does not, under any circumstances, watch Kurt glide around the room happy and bright and- Kilted.

He schmoozes and chats because he’s good at it and it’s fun and distracting, spots a piano in the corner and he’s asked to play so of course he does. Then Isabelle insists that Kurt sing too, so he sits next to Blaine on the bench, kilt moving up and settling above his knees, then very subtly, and just where only Blaine can see, he drags a hand up his thigh, pulls the material up, up.

Blaine completely bungles the opening notes to the song.

Kurt tugs the kilt over his knees.

“No more imported water for this guy,” Blaine jokes. The crowd laughs, he plays and Kurt sings and it’s easy enough to get caught up in the song after that.

They walk home hand in hand, the streets and sidewalks damp from an earlier summer rain shower. They hop over shimmering puddles, gleam of streetlights and neon signs and car headlights at their feet. Blaine feels happily buzzed from performing and the usual thrill he gets whenever he’s with Kurt, but more. Because all week Blaine has ached for him and waited somewhat patiently, and Kurt’s back is straight and his gaze on Blaine is warm and loving and pleased. He loves when Kurt looks at him like that.

He loves even more the way Kurt looks once they’re back home, dark eyes and licked wet lips. He turns to face him in the kitchen, presses close and tugs at Blaine’s bow tie. “I love showing you off,” he says, tugs one end free. “You were so good.”

Kurt pulls his tie loose, unbuttons the top two buttons, fingers brushing back and forth on the knob of Blaine’s throat. “So what do I get for being good?” Blaine asks and finally, finally skims his fingertips along the bottom edge of the kilt.

Kurt grabs his hands, leans in to kiss him but stops just shy of his lips and instead says, “Sit,” and guides Blaine gently down by the shoulders into a chair pulled out from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone for only a few minutes. Blaine shifts in his chair and watches him disappear behind the partition, then waits and watches him come back with a sweep of the curtain and a bottle in his hand. He sets the lube on the table and lowers himself to settle gingerly on Blaine’s knees.

Blaine reaches for him, to finally run his hands under the kilt and up the soft skin and thick muscles that he’s been aching for, finally, but Kurt bats his hands away.

“Not yet.”

Blaine groans, flails his hands in the air before dropping them limp to the side. “Why are you torturing me?”

Kurt’s smile isn’t dark or teasing, it’s bashful. He looks down and away and says, “I like knowing you want me so much.”

“Kurt,” he says, struggling to sit up straighter and jostling Kurt where he sits, sharp bones digging into Blaine’s knees. “I always want you. Always.”

“Yeah?” Kurt says, and he looks up, scoots in closer and doesn’t stop Blaine’s hands this time.

“So much,” Blaine says, traces the line of his hips over his clothes, runs his hands up to Kurt’s rib cage and back down. “So, so much.” He touches the long lines of Kurt’s body over his shirt and vest, watches his lips part and pupils darken, shifts the heavy weight of him closer, wants him so much Blaine feels like he’ll combust from it.

Kurt smiles and sighs happily, leans down and kisses him, the familiar taste and feel of Kurt’s mouth on his. He never gets tired of kissing Kurt and how every time it feels like coming home.

Kurt grips the top of the backrest behind Blaine’s shoulders, moves so he’s spread wider across Blaine’s lap and his pelvis is snug against Blaine’s belly. Blaine likes this position, Kurt hunched over him, letting Blaine’s hands rove everywhere; his back and shoulders, his flat defined chest and waist. Blaine kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, drags his bottom lip across the sharp definition of his jaw and sucks the skin behind his ear.

Kurt writhes and grinds down against Blaine’s legs and abdomen. His own dick is trapped uncomfortably down the left inseam of his pants, so he mouths and kisses down Kurt’s throat, glances down so he can adjust himself more comfortably.

The front of the kilt is riding up as Kurt shifts and wiggles, the fabric tenting between the spread of his legs.

“Kurt, are you…” He leans back, skirts his fingers up, up to the joint of leg and hip and finds- “Oh my god.”

Nothing but Kurt’s warm skin beneath, nothing beneath the kilt. Blaine touches the softly furred skin on the inside of his thighs, runs his finger through the coarse hair low on his belly, traces the gentle give of his balls and passes the backs of his fingers up the jut of his hard cock.

“All night?” Blaine says on a shaky exhale.

“No,” Kurt shivers and rolls his eyes back as Blaine touches and touches. “No, I couldn’t risk a sudden breeze.” He swallows. “Just now. Just for you.”

Blaine surges up to kiss him again, murmurs against his lips, “God I love you.” Kurt laughs and wriggles happily on Blaine’s lap, then Blaine slides his hands around and underneath to grip Kurt’s pert bare ass in his palms, squeezes and kneads and starts to circle his finger around Kurt’s hole, breaches inside just a little and nothing is funny anymore.

“Gonna ride you,” Kurt groans, grabbing for the lube and knocking it to the side with a clatter and a curse. Blaine catches it just before it rolls off the table.

Kurt twists back, yanks open the button on Blaine’s pants. “Nice save.”

“Thank you,” Blaine replies, and squirts a dollop of clear goo onto his pointer and middle fingers, reaches around to grip Kurt’s ass again and slides up the the second knuckle of one. Kurt’s hands falter on Blaine’s zipper. Two fingers and he meets more resistance, the tight clamp of Kurt’s body around him, but he’s spread wickedly across Blaine’s thighs and so eager for it that he loosens easily, then tugs aside the open flaps of Blaine’s pants and gets his cock out from his briefs.

While Kurt slicks up his cock, Blaine lets his head loll back against the top of the chair, watches the tick of his tricep as he stretches Kurt, his wrist and hand completely covered by the drape of the kilt. When Kurt pulls his hand away, lifts up and settles over Blaine’s cock, presses the head against his hole and sinks down, down, bottoms out and sits with a gasp on Blaine’s lap, it doesn’t even look like they’re fucking with the kilt covering everything.

Then Kurt lifts and drops down, grunts and wedges his feet in the bottom rung on the chair for leverage, leans forward and uses the chair back to steady himself, and this time when he lifts and falls the angle makes him groan loudly in the quiet of the apartment.

If Blaine only focuses on the slick hot grip of Kurt’s ass as he rides him hard he’ll come in thirty seconds, so he looks at the shining silver buttons on Kurt’s vest as he moves, the jeweled scarab brooch pinned to his shirt glinting from the lamplight. Reaches down to touch the smooth leather of his tall black boots. Admires the strain of his thighs and the bow of his back, the pull of the tendons in his neck, his head flung back and face lax with pleasure.

Touches again the bare skin underneath the kilt, high up on his legs and his hips and feels himself where Kurt is stretched around him. Kurt whimpers, starts to move faster, and the kilt flies up and twists around his body, straining cock revealed, rising up from the folds of fabric.

Blaine wraps his fingers around him, uses his other hand to tug the kilt down and to cover it when he starts to jerk him off.

“Yes,” Kurt moans. Blaine’s hidden hand on his cock makes the fabric flutter, Kurt’s bouncing in his lap makes it fly up and around, glimpses of his skin, just a tease, just enough. Blaine grips tighter and strokes Kurt faster, thrusting up now as Kurt slams down and cries out. His cock throbs and spills, down Blaine’s fingers and all over the tartan fabric.

He flips the front of the kilt up to see, streaks of white against the dark green and blue and black, lifts Kurt’s ass to pull out to the head of his cock, holds him hovering over his lap and thrusts up into him a few times then tips over the edge.

“Well,” Kurt says, climbing off Blaine a little awkwardly. Blaine gives him a grin, spent and useless on the chair. Kurt leaves to clean up, comes back with a washcloth and wearing comfy lounge pants and a worn T-shirt.

Blaine slumps down and stretches his arms out wide. It was not only worth the wait, but it far exceeded any fantasy that he could have come up with. But then, Kurt always does.

“Do you forgive me for torturing you?” Kurt folds the used washcloth over in his hands, looks at Blaine with a smile and red flushed cheeks.

“I dunno,” Blaine says, still draped limp on the chair. “We might have to do that several more times before I can.”

Kurt shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “Mmm. Alright, up. Go change and come cuddle me on the couch.”

Blaine is tugging on Kurt’s faded Hummel Tires & Lube T-shirt when he gets the idea, even though it’s Kurt’s turn to pick.

“How do you feel about camping?” He asks, walking back to the couch as he ties the drawstring on his pajama pants.

Kurt wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, how about camping for our Sexy Summer Of Sex list.”

Kurt’s mouth twists to scrunch his face further in displeasure. “And when did we decide to call it that?”

“Come on,” Blaine drops to the couch, one arm behind Kurt along the back. “Just think of it: wild and naked and free. Out in the great wide open.”

Kurt rubs his cheek along Blaine’s bicep, sighs and thinks and finally says, “Make me popcorn and I’ll think about it.”

But he smiles and winks and grabs Blaine’s ass when he gets up to head to the kitchen, so Blaine knows he’s got him. Kilt sex, check. Camping sex? Coming right up.


	4. Chapter 4

When Kurt gets back from an afternoon shift at the diner the loft is empty, just a soft hum from the fans blowing and a note on the table with "ran to store be back soon xoxo" and a scribbled heart beneath. Kurt smiles at it, feels a little twist of warmth in his chest, then realizes that he feels like he bathed in grease and heads to the shower, shedding his uniform on the way.

He cleans up and dresses in shorts and a light cotton button up, puts a salad together, eats it and rewatches the performances from the Tony Awards all before Blaine gets back, bustling through the door with his arms full of not groceries, but camping gear.

“Check it out!” Blaine says, breathless from exertion and enthusiasm.

Kurt braces himself, closes his laptop and says, “You know we’re out of milk and bread right?”

Blaine heaves for breath, hands on his hips. “Yeah. Groceries are downstairs. Just a sec.”

Kurt starts to offer to go get them so Blaine doesn’t pass out or injure himself, but he dashes out the door again and Kurt just shakes his head. 

He clears the dishes from the table, drinks a glass of water and then fills it up again for Blaine and starts checking out what Blaine bought. A tent. A double sleeping bag. A huge canvas bag full of-

“Hold on wait, let me tell you about everything!” Blaine stumbles in with two heavy bags of food. Kurt tuts and takes them then heaves both bags onto the counter. He loves seeing Blaine so excited, generally appreciates his zest for life, but Kurt sort needs him to not burst apart like an overeager balloon.

“Okay, first breathe.” Blaine nods, heaves a few deep breaths. “I’ll unpack this stuff and you tell me about your shopping spree.” Kurt starts to unload bags of produce and packages of cheese and meat.

“I wasn’t planning on going without you but there’s that REI near Whole Foods and I just thought I’d stop in, see what they had.” He looks down at the pile of camping gear at his feet. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“Mmm,” Kurt muses, decides to let that one go and starts putting cans and jars and boxes in the cabinets. “How did you get all of it home?”

“It… Was not without its challenges.” Blaine crouches down and sifts through the gear. “Okay. We have our standard two person tent, very cozy. Waterproof. The sales associate says the colors are mood enhancing. Why? I don’t really know. But it was on sale.”

Kurt glances over his shoulder, the tent is packed tightly into its little sack but as far as he can tell it’s bright yellow and clashing rust orange. “I see,” he says, and doesn’t really.

“And the sleeping bag. Which is a double. For snuggling purposes.” Blaine waggles his eyebrows at that.

“I see…” Kurt says, and does this time. He finishes putting cold items in the fridge and freezer, kicks the door closed and stashes the bags away on a shelf.

“This is the really exciting stuff though. Lantern. Flashlights. This cool dish set that all stacks together in this nifty pot, check that out.” Blaine pulls item after item from the bag. “Binoculars. Hammock. First aid kit. Oh! Headlamp!” He puts the headlamp on and grins. “So cool, right?”

He sort of looks like the world’s preppiest coal miner but, “Sure,” Kurt says.

“Um. Fire starter, protein bars. Oh. This amazing multitool.” Blaine opens a bulky silver metal contraption of some sort with different sized knives and scissors, a file and screwdrivers and pliers all attached together. “It even has a wire cutter.” He snaps it to demonstrate.

“For all the wires we’ll be cutting?”

“Hey you never know.” He tucks all the various sharp objects back into the tool, says with a huge grin, “So are you super pumped to go camping?”

“Not in the slightest,” Kurt says.

It’s only after they’ve booked a rental car and gone grocery shopping again, this time for camping food, secured a campsite and set aside camping appropriate outfits that Blaine asks with nostrils flared and eyes just a tad too wide, “Do you just want to cancel the whole thing?”

Kurt pauses with his spare toothbrush halfway in his travel toiletries bag. “No, why?”

“Because you just cracked a joke about using twigs for toothbrushes and a hole in the ground as a toilet and I told you already that there’s bathroom facilities and it’s like-” His voice cranks up higher and he crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s like you’re just humoring me like I’m some dumb kid who gave you a necklace made out of macaroni noodles, Kurt! If you don’t want to go camping with me, then fine.”

“Whoa there, okay.” Kurt sets his bag aside and approaches Blaine slowly. He’s possibly spent a little too much time scoffing at all things camping related. He didn’t realize Blaine was taking it so personally.

“It’s true that camping isn’t exactly my ideal vacation, feel free to confirm that with my dad. Or don’t because he’s probably blocked all those memories out and I wouldn’t blame him.” He reaches out to rub Blaine’s arms, still crossed but loosening bit by bit. “I want to make new memories with you. Good and bad. I want to build a life with you and I want to share in what you’re excited about.”

Blaine’s arms drop and he gives Kurt a watery smile. “Okay.”

“Honestly Blaine if you came home and informed me that your new passion was circus clowning, I’d sigh and worry about your pores with all that makeup, then head out on a search to find the perfect red rubber nose.”

Blaine laughs and bops Kurt’s nose. “No, I like this one.”

Kurt leans in for a quick kiss, then turns back to his task. “Okay, now let’s finishing packing and then I think we should test out that double sleeping bag. Just to make sure it’s up to snuff.”

The drive is pleasant, mostly, far enough to be a solid road trip but not so far that Kurt gets antsy and Blaine gets irritated. They sing along to a new summer playlist and head into the wilds of Pennsylvania on a bright and beautiful morning.

“Do you think there’s bears?” Blaine says, frowning out the window as Kurt takes the last leg of the drive down a narrow dirt road deep in the forest.

“Probably.” The car rumbles so loudly the music is mostly drowned out and huge clouds of dirt fly up behind them.

“Sam kept sending me these links about Bigfoot. I mean I know it’s crazy but-”

“No but. It’s just crazy,” Kurt interrupts, slowing the car to a crawl so he can read the tiny wooden sign with arrows pointing to hiking trails to the right, waterfalls to the left and camping up ahead. “Though I still think I was almost attacked by a giant eel that time we went skinny dipping.”

Blaine shifts in his seat and turns to Kurt. “So Bigfoot is crazy but a giant eel attack is totally reasonable?”

“Giant eels are not mythical creatures,” Kurt retorts.

“They don’t live in lakes in suburban Ohio either,” Blaine mutters, “Oh, turn here.”

The campsite is nice; set far enough back in the woods to be secluded, but not completely rustic: There’s a grill and and a fire ring, a flat area for the tent, a picnic table and water spout, and just down a small winding trail through the trees is a bathroom facility with showers.

“Alright now hold the base at the corner and peg each ring,” Blaine calls out, bent over the flat tent with a print out of step by step instructions for setting it up spread out on the ground. Kurt snorts. “Kurt, come on. Pound it in there good.”

He looks up with a grin and Kurt chuckles, pounds his peg in, then the one in the other corner and hands the multitool that they’ve only used as blunt object so far over to Blaine. They get the tent up with a minimum of drama- there’s some arguing about what pole goes where and one side collapses a little before Kurt has to grudgingly admit he was wrong, then stews about it until Blaine finishes setting everything up inside.

“It is pretty cozy,” Kurt admits, settled down tucked into Blaine’s side in their little ugly tent, birds chirping and a breeze gently rustling the trees and the fabric walls.

“Mmhmm,” Blaine says, ducks his head and starts mouthing along Kurt’s neck. “So should we mess around now or later?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Kurt scoffs, yanking him closer by his ass.

Things are just starting to get heated when Blaine lifts his head and says, “We should go hiking!”

“Why in god’s name would we do that?” Kurt glares a little, or possibly a lot, but hiking is a new development they had not previously agreed upon. Plus, the whole things just getting heated part.

“Because there are waterfalls. And these still pools below where you can swim.” He slithers back, moving down Kurt’s body and sending a jolt of heat through him. “You brought up skinny dipping. We could do it again but without killer eel attacks.”

“I never said it was killer.” He gets one last squeeze of Blaine ass and sighs, “Okay let’s go hiking.”

Kurt usually prefers to do his cardio indoors, prefers to do a lot of things indoors, but he has to admit the hike is pretty nice. It’s serene and peaceful; huge old forest trees and low squat bushes and wide green ferns. The air is crisp and clean, the soil dank and the woods teeming with life. He feels invigorated by the time they reach the bottom of the falls, roaring cascades of water falling down a stone cliff and rushing down into a river below. It takes some doing to find a spot where the water is calm and secluded from the path.

“How about here?” Blaine says. The back of his shirt is damp with sweat and his hair is coming loose in frizzy clumps. Kurt nods and then Blaine hops nimbly to a flat rock, strips out of his clothes and splashes into the water.

“Oh my god that’s cold,” Kurt hisses when he slides in up to his chest. The water is beautifully clear and absolutely freezing.

“This river is fed by snowmelt up on the peak,” Blaine says, cheerful, paddling around the little pool.

“That’s fascinating,” Kurt replies. “I think my testicles are permanently embedded inside of my body.”

Blaine laughs and swims over, stands up and then suddenly cups Kurt’s balls. “Nah, you’re good.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, wiggles a little closer in the water. “Are we doing this then?”

Blaine’s hand moves to rub higher, fingers dragging along the shaft and Kurt has to really focus on that and not how cold the water is. Leans in and kisses Blaine hard and dirty right off the bat. Blaine moans and loses his footing in the water a little, stumbling forward with a splash and pressing up hard against Kurt’s chest. And that’s exactly what Kurt needs, Blaine as close as possible, just his warm hard body and yeah, he can make this work-

And then there’s a giggle. Like a small child, off in the distance. Kurt drags his mouth away and looks around in a daze with Blaine still jerking his cock under the water. Has to slap his shoulder several times to get him to stop.

“Blaine,” he says through gritted teeth, then ducks under the water up to his neck.

“What? Oh. Shit. I mean shoot.” He drops down too, they haven’t been spotted, not yet, but right at the shore of the river is a family with a preschool age child and a mom and dad with a baby strapped to his chest. Each one more blond than the next. They walk along, don’t notice, don’t notice. He and Blaine stay still and silent.

The mom sees their clothes on the rock, slows her pace and glances into the river.

“Hi!” The little girl says.

Kurt covers himself, is pretty sure they can’t actually see anything below the water but just in case. Blaine yelps and hides behind him. Traitor.

“Um. Hello,” Kurt says.

The mom seems to be actively fighting to not laugh, hustles the little girl along with a hand on her pigtailed head.

“I wanna go swimming, too!” Kurt hears.

“Maybe on the way back.” The dad answers.

They head out of view and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief, Blaine moves out from behind him and then the mom backtracks, grins wickedly at them and calls out, “Enjoy your swim!”

Kurt stares up at the clear blue sky for a while, then says, “Back to camp?”

Blaine nods. “Back to camp.”

They dress hastily, wet damp bodies and now wet damp clothes, make it back to the tent and peel them off, lay naked inside the tent to dry their skin. Kurt is hungry, isn’t sure but guesses it’s around dinner time, but when he looks over at Blaine to ask is struck dumb and awed by the sight of him sprawled naked, unashamed with it.

Kurt leans on an elbow, looks and looks his fill, is in love with Blaine and Blaine’s body; every masculine line and sharp cut of bone. The rich tone of his skin, the curve of shoulders and knob of knees. Kurt crawls over and presses his mouth to the lushest parts up him; beneath his arms, the dip of his waist, the round curve of his belly, under his balls and behind his knees, and by the time he sinks his mouth over Blaine’s gorgeous full cock Blaine is already gasping for air, comes with a cry that’s swallowed up by the trees and the gentle breeze and the blue summer sky.

“Want you to fuck me, right here,” Blaine says against his lips, pulls him down and wraps his legs high up on Kurt’s back.

Kurt’s cock nudges against the cleft of his ass, he wants to, god does he want to, but the bag with supplies is still in Blaine’s duffle bag in the car because they ran out of room in the tent. He grinds against Blaine and groans and decides to send Blaine off to fetch it.

That’s when it starts to rain. Not a little. But a downpour, gusts of wind blowing it in through the mesh windows and beneath the rain cover, seeping up into the corners and dripping from the ceiling.

They decide to make a break for it, stark naked and laughing, tumble into the car in a heap of slippery limbs.

“May have to add car sex to the list,” Blaine says, eyelashes clumped and hair in damp ringlets.

Kurt hauls him over his lap, licks one of his nipples to a whine and fingertips digging into Kurt’s shoulders.

Kurt feels wild and free and ridiculous. “You always find the silver lining, Blaine.”


	5. Chapter 5

Outside the rain is heavy and the forest is lush, the rich ground and green fringed trees and bright blooms of flowers drinking up the water until it’s too much; running off down the hills and slopes in murky rivers and deep mud-choked puddles. Inside the car is stifling and humid, windows fogged with the panting of their mixed breath, the rain a hush of white noise, the wind a dull roar where they’re safe and protected in the back seat of the small hatchback rental car.

Kurt’s skin is warm and slick and buzzing at every point where it meets Blaine’s: his forearms resting on Kurt’s shoulder below the grip of his fingers on the headrest behind, Blaine’s thighs pressed to the sides of Kurt’s and his ass and balls bouncing in rhythm on Kurt’s lap. The hot drag of his cock on Kurt’s stomach, even hotter clench of his ass around Kurt’s cock. 

It’s- hot. In every sense of the word, and whenever he’s fucking Blaine or being fucked by Blaine it feels like an iron cage around his chest and heart, overwhelming and all-consuming in the best of ways but right now he sort feels like he might pass out. 

He grips Blaine’s hips hard, slows him down, peppers his chest with kisses and Blaine whimpers and thrashes, arches his back and hits his head on the roof.

“Ow, shit,” Blaine breathes into the top of Kurt’s head. He drops down, body curved and heavy and fevered. 

Kurt runs his palms down Blaine’s sweaty back and white-hot thighs, worries that Blaine is working himself up to a mild concussion at this rate. “I told you to take it easy.”

Blaine grunts and makes some kind of face against Kurt’s skin that is likely disgruntled or pouting. He mumbles something that sounds like you touched my nipple but it’s hard to make out over the sound of the downpour outside.

“I feel like I’m suffocating,” Kurt says, trailing a finger down the spread of Blaine’s ass cheeks still spread around him.

Blaine sits up enough to look at him and yeah, disgruntled. “Sorry,” he says, but in a tone that means anything but.

“Not you,” Kurt sighs. “The air is so hot and stuffy in here. Can’t we open a window?”

“We’ll get wet,” Blaine points out. He pushes away curls matted down on his forehead, all red-cheeked and panting for breath. “Maybe just a little.”

He tries to lean backward over the seat to get at the button for the windows in a truly impressive feat of flexibility at first, but he loses his grip on Kurt’s arm and topples back, Kurt’s dick slipping out slick and hard and getting trapped awkwardly behind Blaine’s right thigh. 

Kurt laughs and gives Blaine’s ass a slap. Blaine gives a pleased noise in surprise, then takes the hint and shuffles around on the seat. He bends over the front seat headrest, giving Kurt an up close and personal view of the round curves of his ass, the hole pink and wet and stretched. Kurt can’t really be blamed for reaching out with both hands to knead and lift, slip both thumbs between and in-

“Oh my god,” Blaine’s body jerks and he falls into the space between the two front seats. “Kurt, jeez.”

“Sorry,” Kurt says with a smirk, not sorry at all.

He gets himself unwedged from the seats, lands with a huff next to Kurt in the back. He did manage to get the window open a crack, a small silent stream of rain-cooled air passing in a caress against Kurt’s overheated skin.

“Mmm, that’s better.” He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like he can feel it fill his lungs, cool and clear and crisp.

“It’s getting the door wet,” Blaine says, spreading a hand flat and wide across Kurt’s abdomen, down where the hair gets coarse and dark, just under the jut of his slightly wilted erection. 

“Oh well. Everything in the tent is soaked.” Kurt wiggles and scoots closer to him so Blaine’s chest is pressed against his arm and Blaine’s head is tucked against the crook of his neck.

“Camping didn’t work out. Car sex didn’t work out.” This time he’s definitely pouting, plump bottom lip dragging against Kurt’s collarbone.

Kurt draws a finger tip from Blaine’s knee up the inside of his leg, around the join of hip and thigh and traces the heavy hang of his balls resting on the seat. He’s half-hard and goosebumps break out across his skin as Kurt touches. He runs a finger along the curve of his cock. It fills with his touch. Kurt smiles.

“How did we manage this last time?” 

Blaine gusts a breath and shudders. “Well, you were just sort of humping my leg-”

“I was not humping,” Kurt scoffs. Touching, touching. “I was merely trying to get as close to you as I could in a confined space.”

Blaine’s answering grin is pressed against Kurt’s jaw. “Yeah, by humping my leg.”

Kurt lifts his hand away and crosses his arms over his naked chest. “You know what, you’re right. Car sex isn’t working out.”

Blaine doesn’t answer, just opens his lips right behind Kurt’s ear and sucks the skin into his mouth, licking over it before moving down to do the same thing in another spot. “You sure?” he says, then moves to the side, just next to the knob of Kurt’s throat. Then again in the curve of shoulder and neck.

Kurt’s eyes roll back and his body unfurls and his cock stands stiff between his legs. “Yep. Totally. Uh. Su- Sure.” Blaine hums into his throat, kisses harder, nips and sucks until Kurt is loose and flushed with warmth, cock achingly hard and starting to bead with fluid in the slit. “Blaine.”

“Yes?” He hunches over to give Kurt’s chest the same treatment, then his nipples, until Kurt’s hips lift and a moan rumbles out and his hand is a vice-grip on Blaine’s thick, toned quad. 

He thinks about just jerking himself off while Blaine winds and winds and winds him up, but then Blaine’s cock brushes his arm. He looks down and curls his fingers around it, grips tight and pulls and twists and Blaine loses focus, twitching and breathing out a stuttered ah. 

Kurt smiles to himself, satisfied and smug. Then Blaine ups the game. He’s gone again, this time draping himself over the backseat to the trunk space, ass high in the air and if Kurt thought he could manage it without banging his head he’d pin him down right there and fuck him to the quick beat of the rain drumming on the hood. Fast, hard, unrelenting. 

But Blaine drops back down with the tossed aside bottle of lube, squirts some out onto his fingers, then Kurt’s, then lifts his eyebrows to devilish points and says, “Go.”

Between the steady slick-slide of his hand and his mouth back on Kurt’s neck, Kurt can’t make sense of anything but the quick build of pleasure tight in his groin and twisting in his belly. Then he realizes through the fog what Blaine is playing at and fumbles blindly for Blaine’s dick.

He’s losing, he knows it and Blaine knows it: his hips churn and his hand is loose and uncoordinated and he’s hitching out little sobs and he’s so so close already, there’s no way he’ll get Blaine off first.

Blaine lifts up on one bent knee for a better angle, the other foot still planted on the floorboards and Kurt sees his chance, twists and curves his body to get a hand on Blaine’s ass, presses three fingers inside and focuses all of his few remaining functional brain cells on matching the pull and push of his hand to the fingers working Blaine’s hole.

Blaine wheezes and lists forward, close enough that Kurt can dart his tongue out and circle it around a peaked nipple and that does it, Blaine’s body snaps rigid and his cock throbs and he spills sideways across Kurt’s legs and stomach.

After Blaine finishes he’s limp and useless so Kurt manhandles him back over his lap, holds him down by his narrow hips so he won’t hit his head again and thrusts shallowly up into him a few times before he lets go and tumbles over the edge.

“You cheated,” Blaine says, falling back the side and grinning.

“Should have stopped and explained the rules then. That’s on you.” 

“Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll let it slide just this once.”

Kurt shakes his head and reaches over the back seat for Blaine’s duffle bag. The rain is slowing, some of the bloated dark clouds letting sunlight seep out from between them. Kurt finds a towel, wipes himself off then hands it to Blaine. Grabs out two pairs of boxer briefs and wriggles into the purple ones, tosses the red pair to Blaine.

“I’m famished,” Kurt announces and looks around outside. “What are the odds we can get a campfire going now?”

Once the rain slows to a drizzle they climb out of the car and Kurt indulges in a long, luxurious stretch, back cracking and muscles tingling before braving the soggy tent to find dry clothes.

The middle of his duffle bag is okay, just the top and bottom soaked through so his outfit is mismatched but passable. Blaine dresses and pulls the soaked sleeping bag out to hang over the picnic table. 

The wood for the fire is wet, the charcoal for the grill is wet, the bottom of the tent is wet and the canopy over the top has collected so much water it’s almost an above ground swimming pool. 

Kurt pulls out the cooler, sweeps away the rain puddled on top and finds hummus and pita chips to munch on while Blaine looks around at the damage with his hands on his hips.

“Now what?”

“It might dry before the sun goes down,” Kurt says between crunches of chips. Blaine pokes at the sleeping bag and wrinkles his nose.

“Doubt it.”

“We could… Sleep in the hammock?” Not Kurt’s first choice. Or his second or third or- Well, it’s pretty far down the line as far as places he’d like to sleep. But for Blaine’s sake, he’ll deal.

Blaine considers it with dropped shoulders and soft, sad eyes. “Let’s just go.”

“What? No, come on. Eat some hummus, you’ll feel better.” Kurt holds the container out towards him.

He shrugs. “No, I- You know, I really just wanted to be somewhere that I could spend time just focused on you without distraction. Just somewhere open and free and…”

Kurt tilts his head. “And?”

“And I did. And now I smell terrible and my hair is wreck and I have no desire whatsoever to sleep in a wet tent on the cold hard ground. So lets go find a hotel we can’t really afford, take a long hot bath, order room service, and sleep in an actual bed.”

Kurt sets down the hummus and the bag of chips, brushes off his hands and says, “God, I’d marry you right this second if I could.”

Blaine laughs and walks over to kiss his cheek. “Come on, let’s pack up. I bet there’s a list item we can do in a hotel.”

Kurt helps him take down the tent and wonders if there’s a sexy bucket list item that involves eating steak tartare in bed. He’s sure he can figure something out.


	6. Chapter 6

“We Tuck-Em Inn Motel,” Kurt reads off the lit up sign, the bulbs for the first T burnt out. His fingers are laced together over his knee, eyebrows tilted in, nose flaring slightly, eyes sliding to the side. He is not impressed.

Blaine frowns at it, the inn looked so quaint on the website but in reality not even the dwindling daylight can hide its aging tackiness. It may have been quaint fifty years ago. Today it’s cracked sidewalks and ominously flickering street lights. The yellowed paint on the exterior is chipped and peeling, the pool empty save for slick green sludge puddled in the deep end. He bets they rent rooms by the hour. They probably have a jungle themed one. That could be fun.

“I’ll just keep going,” Blaine says, pulling the gear stick down into reverse and easing off the brake.

Kurt flicks his chin up. “Mmm.”

It’s the third place they’ve rejected so far tonight: First Blaine passed up on the nearby Best Western because a generic chain hotel was really not what he’d had in mind. Then Kurt wrinkled his nose at the cute little bed and breakfast four towns over because he “hates schmoozing first thing in the morning.”

The We Tuck-Em Motel stop was possibly motivated in part by Blaine being sick of driving and stressed out about the state of his hair and clothes. And he’s hungry. But more than than that, Kurt is hungry. He’s all folded together in the seat, shoulders high and elbows out like he’s made only of sharp corners. His face is stormy and he tends to reply to Blaine’s attempts at small talk with grunts or hums or monosyllabic retorts. 

Blaine takes an exit when the pleasant voice on the navigation system tells him to, then he gives a small cheer and turns up the song that pops up on shuffle.

Kurt turns it down. “I’m too hungry to listen to Lorde at full volume,” he says, like that’s any sort of logical explanation. 

“…Okay,” Blaine replies. He almost tells Kurt to find something to snack on in the cooler, but decides against it, since the last time he’d said that Kurt gave him a look so piercing that it actually made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Then it’s quiet, and Blaine drives aimlessly down the main street of a town they’ve stumbled onto with old narrow streets and brick rectangle buildings, the sort of small downtown that looks like its heydays are well behind it, as if it had been abandoned and forgotten for the promise of the suburbs, then just recently started to come to life once again.

They pass a bustling restaurant next to two empty storefronts, an old fashioned drug store, then a pawn shop. A cute bakery and an ice cream shop and a store with knitting supplies, next to that another empty building, and next to that a high-end clothing boutique for children. 

“Hmm,” Kurt says, eyes scanning, head tilted, fingers stroking at the base of his neck. Intrigued.

“It’s kind of adorable,” Blaine says, and he means the town and Kurt both.

“Yeah it kind of is,” Kurt says with a pleased little smile.

They luck out with a large hotel sitting grandly at the end of the historic district like its final relic. 

“Originally constructed in 1827 and renovated in 2009, it retains all of the original exposed brick walls and twelve foot high tin ceilings with an antique balcony on the second floor and 19th century furnishings.” Kurt reads the little plaque in front, turns to Blaine with bright, wide eyes. “And free WiFi.”

“Well that sells it,” Blaine says, and heads back to the car to get their bags.

The room is small but elegant, an eclectic mix of old world and modern conveniences: a claw foot tub and antique furniture, but a mini fridge hums below a microwave in a corner and the gothic style iron bed has a pillow top memory foam mattress that Kurt immediately sprawls out on and moans the way he does when Blaine has done something very, very good.

Blaine flushes a little and laughs, then puts their stuff in the dark hand-carved wooden armoire. He heads over to the desk, flips the black binder open and pages through local numbers and places of interest in the area, hotel policies and emergency services until he finds the menu for the attached bistro. 

“Ooh, blue cheese filet mignon,” Blaine says.

Kurt wriggles on the bed and groans, “Oh god, yes.”

They get burgers instead of filet mignon, sweet potato wedges, calamari, and Caprese salads. Kurt eats like he’s coming off of a hunger strike, cross-legged on the bed with plates spread out all around him. He finishes his own food, then eyes Blaine’s and Blaine has to fend him off with a fork.

“What sort of beast did camping stir up in you?” Blaine says, tines of his fork pointed towards Kurt’s wandering hand. 

Kurt looks up at him with a grin that’s predatory, gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over, yanks Blaine in by the scruff of his shirt and kisses him hard and dirty and biting, and Blaine is so lost in kissing him that he doesn’t even notice Kurt snagging his remaining potato wedge. The big one he was saving for last.

“You play dirty,” Blaine pouts.

“This is news to you?” Kurt says, his mouth full of Blaine’s sweet potato wedge.

They fill the tub with hot water and clean up dinner, Kurt’s mood much improved when he slips into the tub behind Blaine, then slowly and sweetly washes his hair and massages in conditioner. Kisses across his shoulders and neck and rubs wide circles across his chest and dips his hand deep in the water to trail fingertips around his stomach.

“If you’re trying to make it up to me, forget it. I’ll never forgive you.” Blaine says, his voice soft and airy, head lolled back on Kurt’s broad chest. 

“Oh? That’s too bad.” Kurt muses, a slow dulled drag of his hand in the water down the top of Blaine’s thigh and back up the inside. He cups Blaine’s soft cock, rolls his balls in his palm.

“It really is,” Blaine says, and cranes back to suck on Kurt’s jaw.

They don’t do much beyond slow teasing in the tub. Then they get out and dry off and scrub their faces, fix their hair and brush their teeth with a low simmer of desire, just enough that they press closer than necessary at the gilded oval mirror and Kurt rests his hand at Blaine’s back while he rubs in moisturizer with the other, and Blaine presses a minty kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth when he’s done.

He means to continue when they climb into bed, their usual sides strange at first since the bed faces the opposite direction, but the mattress is really incredibly comfortable and Blaine’s eyes feel heavy and his body drifts like he’s still floating in warm water, then Kurt snugs into his side and smells so much like home that Blaine loses his grip on consciousness before he even manages to say goodnight.

He wakes before Kurt. This isn’t unusual, but for once he doesn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do, doesn’t feel compelled to get up and make Kurt breakfast or get in a quick run and shower so he has a front row seat to Kurt’s a.m. underwear-only exercise routine. So he stretches and pulls Kurt closer into his curved body, morning erection settling snug against Kurt’s ass. Breathes him in and savors the feeling of Kurt’s hard body relaxed in slumber. He presses a barely there kiss between the points of his shoulder blades.

Kurt doesn’t wake, but he does shift, presses closer into Blaine’s body and lets out a content little sigh. Blaine grinds his hips in a circle again and again, delicious friction on his cock. He spreads his fingers wide on Kurt’s flat belly, nuzzles his nose into the curve of his neck, reaches down to lift one of Kurt’s legs over his and the backs of his fingers touch Kurt’s cock. It twitches into his hand.

Kurt stretches and groans, and Blaine gets his hand inside of Kurt’s briefs, pumps his hot cock to full hardness and grinds and grinds against his ass. Kurt mumbles out a squeak that sounds like, “Blaine.”

“Yeah?” Blaine says, breath hitching, rutting fast against him now. He feels drunk, the haze of sleepiness and the burn of arousal twisting and singing through him. He sets his mouth at the nape of Kurt’s neck and sucks, pinches the skin between his teeth, then mumbles there, “I love you. Love your ass, love your cock. I want you so much.”

Kurt whimpers and shudders and the tip of his cock goes a little wet. Blaine spreads it from the slit with his thumb, then pulls his hand away to taste.

“Ungh,” Kurt breathes out, and flops to his back. He looks fevered: cheeks red and eyes glassy, hair a riot and chest heaving. “More,” he requests with a lopsided grin.

Blaine slithers down his body, down underneath the covers, dark and hot and humid, sucks the head of Kurt’s cock in between in lips, licks in with the point of his tongue, then across with the flat of it. Kurt’s legs spread and his hips buck, so Blaine holds the angled jut of them and sinks his mouth down until his throat flutters around Kurt’s cock.

Kurt moans and stretches, all of his muscles pulled long in slow-sliding sensuality. Blaine bobs his head and sucks and licks and breathes his scent and laps up the taste of him. Kurt comes quickly, always loose and unguarded and easy in the mornings, then he hauls Blaine up into the clear fresh air, kisses him soft and slow and with so much naked love that Blaine feels dizzy.

“I’m not sure that was a list item we can check off,” Kurt says, eyes closed, letting Blaine rub against his hip.

“Hotel sex? No, we’ve done that.”

“Mmm, we have indeed.” 

Blaine mouths Kurt’s skin and ruts his cock and he’s two seconds away from asking Kurt to put some part of his body on his aching dick, he’s not even picky about which one at this point, when Kurt pipes up,

“You could fuck me over that gorgeous hand-etched antique Davenport desk. That would be new.”

Blaine huffs a laugh into his shoulder. “A contemporary use for it?” He sits up, undresses and watches every sinuous shift of Kurt’s body as he gets up and crosses the room. Fucking on an antique may be an unconventional bucket list item, but when have they ever aimed for conventional?

Kurt plants his hands at the edge of the desk, tests the strength and gives a shy little shrug. “Maybe not. Who knows what kinky stuff old-timey people were into.” Then he bends at the waist and crooks his finger and Blaine, as usual, is powerless to resist. What’s next, Blaine can’t even begin to guess.


	7. Chapter 7

When they get back to New York there’s a stretch of nearly two weeks that they hardly see each other at all. Kurt takes on extra shifts to cover some of the other waiters’ vacations at the same time that Vogue ramps up its summer internships. Blaine starts summer classes at NYADA, and even though Blaine’s insecurities at lagging behind him tug at Kurt’s mind when he registers for the session, Blaine says that it really had more to do with going stir crazy at home with so much free time.

He did rearrange the furniture several times over, scrapbook their entire summer thus far, and spent three days and two sleepless nights trying to arrange Beyonce’s self-titled album for an a cappella choir like a madman obsessed with beat-boxing.

So fine. Blaine clearly needs an outlet.

Of course, Kurt wouldn’t mind being that outlet, at least sometimes, but they’re like lonely ships passing in the night with occasional half-asleep quickies.

Kurt is off on a Friday, the day Blaine only has Shakespearean Monologues and Intro to Accents first thing in the morning, so he orders a pizza for lunch while Blaine stands in the center of the living room combining both lessons of the day in a booming over-the-top voice, arms flung wide and leaning up on his tiptoes.

Kurt places the order, smiles at Blaine and says, “I feel like I’m living with Cooper.”

Blaine’s face turns sour and he drops onto his heels with a thump. “Sorry.”

Kurt shrugs, coy, “I didn’t say I was complaining.” Blaine’s lips turn down and he crosses his arms over his chest as Kurt chuckles, then crosses the room to tug him in for a kiss. He means for it to be a passing little peck, cute and teasing, but Blaine’s mouth parts under his and he slides his arms tight around Kurt’s waist and it gets heated quickly, Kurt stretching his neck long and moaning as Blaine’s perfect mouth slides down. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Mmph,” Blaine says, garbled, but he doesn’t need words, it’s clear enough with the frantic press of his lips and the hard, long shape of him filling against Kurt’s hip.

Kurt’s shirt is off and tossed over the back of the couch and Blaine’s belt is undone and his lips are shining pink. He starts to step back and crouch in front of Kurt when the pizza that Kurt had completely forgotten about arrives.

“Large veggie and a two liter of Sprite?”

Blaine takes care of the food retrieval and bill, blushing and craning around the door with his untucked shirt flapping over his groin, yet more presentable than Kurt who waits on the couch half-dressed and cross-legged, hunched over his very obvious erection in his very tight pants.

“Your pizza, sir,” Blaine says, vowels dancing inside the words as he sets down the box and plates and two cups filled with ice and Sprite.

Kurt flips open the pizza box. “Italian accent?”

“Yeah, and we haven’t even covered that one yet!” He gets a slice, crosses his legs beneath him and turns to Kurt on the couch. “You should eat every meal without a shirt on, by the way.”

Kurt smiles around his bite and rolls his eyes, but only a little. He can’t say he minds the drag of Blaine’s gaze on his skin, hungry and hot. He eats three slices, stretches out on the couch with his toes tucked under Blaine’s thighs and pats his full belly. He’s missed Blaine, and sex, but also lazy warm days spent together talking or watching a movie or just being. He closes his eyes and soaks it in and Blaine eats and drinks and then crunches his ice. It’s not Kurt’s favorite habit of his, but he’s content and happy so he ignores it. He doesn’t want to squabble, not now.

And this is a very good call on his part, because soon he can feel Blaine unfold his legs and crawl up Kurt’s body, nose nuzzling back into Kurt’s throat and lips following after, dragging open across Kurt’s skin, tongue flicking out and-

“Cold,” Kurt gasps. The last sliver of an ice cube on Blaine’s tongue stings sharp just over his collarbone, the skin around it warmed from Blaine’s lips. It’s strange, and not entirely unpleasant. Blaine presses his fingers to the spot to warm it which makes Kurt squirm a little. Blaine starts to apologize, but Kurt cuts him off.

“Do it again.”

Blaine’s eyes search his face and he hovers over him, unsure, then drops his head and huffs in that delighted-confused way he does when Kurt surprises him. “Okay.”

He’s gone, pushing away to get his cup, shakes the ice around and tips it against his open mouth. He comes back with an ice cube making his cheek bulge out. His closed lips are cool and wet, leaving little cold spots of water down the side of Kurt’s neck and the center of his chest, down to his belly button and the flat inward curve of his belly. Then he travels back up, open mouth and cold tongue, even colder burn of ice on Kurt’s skin.

“Oh,” Kurt breathes, and squirms and squirms. It’s a shock every time, a flash edging on pain. Kurt feels fevered, too cold skin over too hot blood, every spot Blaine’s mouth touches pulls tight with prickly bumps. When Blaine sets his icy mouth over Kurt’s nipple and sucks hard, Kurt shivers from head to toe.

It’s too much, but Kurt wants more, arches his back and holds Blaine by the back of his head to keep him right there, nipple pebbled hard and stinging with a sharp shock of pain. The ice cube melts away, Blaine’s mouth warms up again and Kurt drops down against the cushions, skin covered in tingly patches. Blaine starts to move away then gives the hard nub of Kurt’s nipple a bite as he goes and Kurt sobs out a cry.

“Wow, okay.” Blaine takes in the state of him; eyes dark and roving. Kurt looks at his chest and stomach, marked with little splotches of red, down to where his cock is an obscene line pushing against the front of his pants. “Stay right there,” Blaine says, hopping up off the couch and bouncing to the bedroom area, calling out from behind the curtain, “Oh, but take your clothes off.” Then says an afterthought with the floorboard creaking under his feet as he returns, “Please.”

Kurt does, struggles out of his pants and underwear as Blaine comes back stripped down, cock flushed and full and rising, watches Kurt with one hand tucked behind his back. Kurt bites his lip and spreads out as best as he can on the narrow couch, looks over at Blaine’s cup beaded with condensation from the melting ice and considers grabbing out a cube, rubbing it up and down his skin and putting on a show.

But Blaine gets a leg over his waist, balances himself on one hand next to Kurt’s head and moves in to kiss him, pulls at Kurt’s bottom lip with that thrilling combination of tugging suction and soft clever tongue and sharp nipping teeth. Kurt is lost to it, lost to him like he always is, so when something brushes the head of his cock with a barely there touch he pulls away in hazy confusion.

“A feather?”

Blaine looks away, a little sheepish. “I just thought-”

“Yeah, okay,” Kurt breathes, and pulls him back down with a crash of lips.

It feels like- Not enough. A tease. Something touching his cock, stroking soft up the straining shaft and down the fat vein on the underside. Tickles against his balls and dips down to brush the little sensitive patch of skin beneath. A touch that’s barely anything; a ghost, a whisper, just winding and winding and winding, never getting him there.

Blaine sits back to watch and Kurt grips his own hair and groans. “I need-”

“What?” Blaine runs the feather over his nipples, his neck, his stomach and hips and thighs, back up and down his cock. “What do you need, Kurt?”

Kurt groans again, “I don’t know-” The feather brushes up and away and Kurt’s cock lifts and strains toward it, seeking more. He’s strung so tight, wants it so much, so wound up on sensation he feels like he could come from a single perfect stroke of Blaine’s hand. But it’s just the feather, soft and tickling and teasing, until Blaine hunches down and takes Kurt’s already sore nipple in between his front teeth and bites down.

“Oh god, oh god, oh-” Again and again, the gentle touch of the feather and the sharp sting of his teeth on one nipple, then other and back. Kurt whines, hips bucking up, he could cry he’s so close but he can’t- God he needs it, just strains and builds and careens from not enough to too much and back again.

“Can you come?” Blaine sounds wrecked, breathy and rough, his cock a hot brand on the side of Kurt’s thigh.

“I don’t- Touch me, touch me please.” Kurt’s hips lift again, cock bobbing in the air and leaving a new smear of wet against his belly.

“Okay, I’ve got you.” Blaine twists, rests his head against Kurt’s chest and drops the feather then grips Kurt’s cock, gives it a tug and blows out a line of cool air across both nipples. Kurt gasps and grunts, snaps his hips up and spills blissfully, finally, over the edge.

He feels wrung out, eyes closed and his body buzzing from head to toe. His ears ring, his fingers tingle, his toes feel numb. He’s weak limbed and electric with a smile stretching wide across his face. Blaine is heavy on top of him, groaning and rutting his hips against Kurt, his cock driving through the mess on Kurt’s belly again and again until Kurt feels more heat, more wet, and Blaine goes boneless next to him.

“I saw feathers on the list. Is that what you had in mind?” Blaine is settled happily against his side, legs tangled, one hand spread flat on his stomach.

“I guess? I didn’t really have a plan, per se.” Blaine’s thumb strokes his hipbone and Kurt smiles. “I enjoyed that though.”

Blaine rumbles a laugh, “Oh, I know.” He lifts his head, looks at Kurt with his eyes so full of love that it feels like an anchor curling safe around his heart. “So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, the which he will not every hour survey, for blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.”

“That’s nice. What does it mean?” Kurt asks, starting to get a little hot and sticky and uncomfortable. He could go for a bath and maybe another slice of pizza.

“It means I missed you, too.” Blaine kisses the center of his chest and pushes up on an elbow. “And that I enjoyed making you come with a feather you dirty, dirty boy.”

Kurt barks a laugh and shoves him away, sits and gathers his clothes. “It does not mean that.”

“It might, I only just started the class.”

Kurt shakes his head and walks to the bathroom, dumps his clothes in the hamper and calls out for Blaine to join him. “Take a bath with me and tell me more about these raunchy Shakespeare plays you’ve been learning about.”

Kurt starts the bath, climbs in as the tub is still filling and settles in to the sensation of the cool water rising on his sticky hot skin. He loves how Blaine gets it, even when Kurt is unable to define what it is. That they can explore these new things together, no judgement, no shame. But even more, he’s glad that they can still surprise each other.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been raining on and off all day, alternating from air heavy with humidity to the patter and hush of showers, then a refreshing break from the heat before the cycle starts up all over again. The latest rainfall is tapering off, dripping from the corners of rooftops and awnings, people outside shaking off their umbrellas and dashing across puddles. Blaine sits at the table with a heavy textbook and a blue highlighter, his notebook open to a blank sheet of paper, a cool breeze lifting the corners of the page he’s reading every so often.

It’s darker now than it usually is in the early evening; heavy clouds still slowly breaking apart and drifting away to reveal the indigo blue of the the sky, so Blaine has the overhead light on in the kitchen, and Kurt has the lights on in their room where a rustle or a clunk or a hum sounds out as Kurt gets ready and Blaine works in silence.

Blaine scribbles out an outline, double checks his notes, and then Kurt emerges. He looks gorgeous, and smells amazing, and Blaine has never hated History of Theater 102 as much as he does right now.

“You sure you aren’t coming?” Kurt asks, finger trailing Blaine shoulder, the scent of him scrubbed clean and coiffed and cologned swirling around them.

Blaine considers his paper, purses his lips. “I guess I could pull an all-nighter…”

Kurt grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and says, “Remember the last time you pulled an all-nighter? How unhinged you got? How we had to buy all new socks because you made puppets out of them while muttering nonsense to yourself?”

“They were kind of cute?” Blaine tries. Cute in a creepy way. And his coping mechanisms really could be a lot worse than a sock puppet army.

Kurt kisses his cheek. His lips are cool from the water. “They were. And so are you, but I still have nightmares about your crazy eyes.” He widens his eyes dramatically and Blaine laughs.

“Well, in that case I should probably skip Elliott’s party and finish this at a reasonable hour.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, and puts the rest of the water back, gathers his wallet and keys and phone and leans down over Blaine’s chair for a goodbye kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. Have fun.” Kurt stands and starts to walk away and Blaine calls out, “You look super hot, I can’t wait for you to come home to me,” just to see Kurt blush and glance down and away in pleased surprise, then back at Blaine with a wide grin.

He’s jealous, he can admit it. Not just that Kurt gets to go a party without him, but that Kurt will probably get hit on or flirted with or at the very least checked out, while Blaine is here writing a paper about early medieval theatre for a summer class that he now deeply regrets signing up for. But all of that is not Kurt’s problem, it’s his. And like Kurt said, trust is a choice. So he sighs and focuses, starts on his rough draft and muses that adulthood seems to involve making a lot of choices that he doesn’t particularly want to.

Hours later the apartment is dark and his eyes hurt and his back aches from being hunched over his computer for so long, but the paper is done and still no word from Kurt, so he tinkers with it a little more, edits and adds to it. Still nothing. He stands and stretches, his back making satisfying little pops when he twists from side to side. He prints out the pages and secures them with a little clip, then decides to put it in a sleek black binder instead. Then types up and prints out a cover page.

He’s considering writing up an addendum when the door rattles and opens a sliver. Stops and there’s shuffling in the hallway, then it’s opened all the way to reveal Elliott, Kurt against his side with one arm draped over his shoulder.

It happens before he’s able to get ahead of it, a sick twist in his gut at seeing Kurt all over him like that. But it’s just a flash and he knows it’s not like that, even more so than usual because Kurt appears to be pretty drunk.

“I guess he had fun,” Blaine says, accepting Kurt’s heavily drooping body from Elliott.

“Yeah you could say that,” Elliott says, grimacing as he rotates the shoulder Kurt had been leaning on. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

Blaine chuckles, hoists Kurt a little bit more upright, and Kurt’s head snaps up from looking at his shoes to take in the loft wide-eyed, and finally settling on Blaine with a squint.

“Blaine!” His face lights up with joy and exuberance, like he hasn’t seen Blaine in months. “Elliott look! It’s Blaine!”

“I know honey, I brought you home.” Elliott says to Kurt, then gives Blaine a look clearly meant to convey that he’s Blaine’s problem now.

Blaine thanks him, insists that he and Kurt take him out for coffee since he was kind enough to leave his own party and get Kurt home safely. Blaine shakes his hand and smiles in genuine appreciation, and Kurt clings to his back like a gorilla.

The door hasn’t even finish sliding closed before Kurt’s hands are groping his torso and his mouth is on the back of Blaine’s neck. “Mmm, I missed you. Thought about you all night.”

“You did?” Blaine squeaks, as Kurt’s right hand goes for his crotch without any preamble whatsoever.

“Mmhmm,” Kurt says, and squeezes, then lifts his mouth and hands away to say with a gasp. “Oh! You know what’s so good? Sangria. Mmmm.”

Blaine grins and takes advantage of Kurt’s distraction to turn around and hold him close, then walk them towards the bedroom in a fairly perilous and slow moving shuffle. Blaine gets the curtain closed, gets Kurt to the edge of the bed, doesn’t fall or drop him and that’s with Kurt insisting on keeping both hands gripped to Blaine’s ass the entire time, so not a small feat.

“Know what else is so good?” Kurt says, standing at the edge of the bed with his posture loose and lazy, his mouth quirked up on one side and his pupils dark, cheeks blazing red. “Your cock. I want it in my mouth.”

Blaine’s throat goes dry and his cock pulses in his pants. Not only is sangria so good, it also seems to be great at lowering Kurt’s inhibitions around dirty talk. In the heat of the moment he’s prone to pretty filthy things, but that- That’s a little bolder than usual.

Blaine gapes like a fish out of water for a moment while Kurt slouches and wobbles and smirks. Finally Blaine swallows and moves closer. “Why don’t we take you clothes off first?”

And if he has ulterior motives — like getting Kurt to bed with a couple aspirin and some water so he doesn’t have a hangover in the morning — Kurt doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“Yes,” Kurt breathes, watching with drooping eyelids as Blaine unbuttons his shirt. “Wait.” And suddenly Blaine is being spun around and pushed back onto the bed, falling down with an oof of surprise.

“Strip show,” Kurt says and wiggles his hips. “It’s on the list remember?”

“Um,” Blaine says. Kurt starts to dance his way out his clothes, and Blaine isn’t sure what do. On the one hand, Kurt is slowly revealing more and more of his hot, soft skin. And Blaine wants to touch and taste and look, of course he does. On the other hand, Kurt is drunk. Drunk and reverting to his ridiculous, lip biting, trying-too-hard-to-be-sexy-shimmying while also getting stuck and twisted around in his clothes. The whole effect is- Well it’s adorable really, and god Blaine loves him for doing this, but he’s also concerned that Kurt’s going to injure himself, hopping on one foot with his pants tangled around his ankles.

“Come here,” Blaine says softly, holding out his hand. Kurt hobbles over like a penguin. Blaine smiles and feels a happy twist of warmth in his chest.

“Are you ready for me- oop.” Kurt flops on the bed face first and laughs, then turns to his back once Blaine free his legs from his pants. Blaine turns and crosses his own legs beneath him, Kurt even more gorgeous now than when he left with his hair gone a little spiky and his face and neck flushed, relaxed on the bed in just underwear with a beaming grin.

Is he ever ready for Kurt?

Blaine plants his hands on the bed and leans over him, presses one kiss and then another to Kurt’s sweetly curved up lips then says, “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

Kurt groans and cranes up to kiss him again, harder. “Let me suck you first.”

Blaine’s breath catches and his head drops. Kurt is very, very hard to say no to. But before he’s even had a chance to make up his mind, Blaine feels movement against the outside of his hip, looks down Kurt’s body to see his hand in his underwear up to his wrist, head of his cock emerging as his fist starts to pump.

“Kurt, god.”

“Mmm, can’t wait. ‘M so horny.”

It’s not like he’s never seen Kurt touch himself, he has. But Kurt usually prefers his alone time to be alone so his hand on his own cock is usually when Blaine is busy pleasing Kurt in other ways. He doesn’t get to just watch very often. He can’t seem to stop staring.

Kurt is lost to it, eyes closed and eyebrows pulled tight. Legs spreading a little and quiet grunts coming from his throat. He jerks himself beneath his underwear for a while, then seems to get frustrated and shoves them down his thighs. He’s like porn; face twisted in pleasure, moaning and gasping, the muscles of his right arm flexing and bulging, and that beautiful long cock hard and red with his lovely long fingers wrapped around it, tugging and twisting and pulling.

He comes with a cry, shoots up his own belly and then weaker spurts down his hand. Breathes out a happy little sigh and goes so relaxed he’s liquid-like on the bed. He’s close to sleep, Blaine can tell, chest already rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

“Water,” Blaine croaks, mostly as a reminder to himself to stop staring. He walks to the kitchen with blood burning and stiff in his pants. Sets down the water and two little pills next to Kurt’s table on his side of the bed. Cleans off Kurt’s belly and hand with tissues and tugs his underwear back up, then a blanket over top.

“Goodnight,” Blaine says.

“Mmm,” Kurt replies, and curls up on his side.

He considers rushing off the the bathroom the get himself off quickly and joining Kurt in bed, but he has to pack up his school work and he left dishes in the sink and the front door is still unlocked. By the time he does all that, shuts off lights and finishes getting ready for bed, his own orgasm doesn’t feel quite so urgent, and curling up next to his fiance and going to sleep is much more appealing.

Blaine wakes to an alarm and bright sun, car horns and a dog barking and Kurt still sleeping away. Blaine snuffles and tucks himself closer against Kurt’s body, then realises with a groan that he has to go to class and turn in his paper. It’s a tremendous challenge to drag himself out of bed and away from Kurt, but he manages. Makes coffee and scrambles some eggs, leaves half of both for Kurt to warm up whenever he’s done sleeping it off and heads to the shower.

After he’s washed his hair and face he soaps up his body, figures he’s already naked and slippery and never did masturbate last night, so why not? He braces one hand on the shower wall and grasps his soft cock with a loose grip. Then nearly slips into the tub when the curtain is yanked open with a screech of the metal rings on the metal pole.

“Kurt!” Blaine looks at Kurt then down to his hand on his dick and back up. “Uh-”

“I knew it,” Kurt says with a nod, then sits down on the closed toilet seat, crosses one leg over the other and makes a little go on gesture.

“Uh-” Blaine says again, still frozen, hot water hitting his back and sending little sprays out around him. Kurt looks fresh from bed; messy hair and with red lines across his cheek from the pillow.

“I remember giving you a little show last night. Now it’s my turn.”

“You… you want to… To watch?” Blaine stammers.

Kurt tilts his head and lifts his eyebrows. “Uh huh… Have you had coffee yet? You seem confused.”

“I have. I just- You caught me off guard.”

“Oh.” Kurt’s face falls a little. “Do you not want me to watch? Sorry, I just. Meant to continue last night but I feel asleep. I think sangria makes me sleepy.”

Blaine is still folded over on himself, not sure what to do or say, has to regain his bearings and restructure the way he expected the morning to go. He has some extra time built in, had already set his alarm fifteen minutes early just in case he had last minute details to work out on his paper. Kurt is looking down at his knees now, unsure.

“Okay,” Blaine says. “You can watch.”

He closes his eyes and rubs at his once again softened erection, a little awkward at first knowing Kurt is watching him instead of just being focused on his own pleasure. But he is a performer at heart, so he steps out of the water closer to where Kurt is sitting, licks his lips and starts to stroke. He thinks about Kurt last night, the way he’d looked and sounded, his moan when he came and his own come on his belly, his own hand around his cock.

Blaine groans and it echoes around the bathroom, fumbles a hand out for the body wash and uses the other to fondle his balls as he squirts some out, then his strokes are slick and wet and squelching, obscene in the otherwise quiet bathroom. He widens his stance, juts his hips out, braces his free hand on the wall again and starts to fuck upwards into his own fist, pleasure building at the base of his spine and low in his groin.

He looks through heavy eyes at Kurt for a brief moment, their eyes lock and Kurt gives him a half grin and looks away, and then Blaine notices that he’s jerking off, too, beneath his briefs like he had last night.

“Oh,” Blaine groans, and he pulls faster, squeezes tighter, knowing that Kurt is touching himself just from watching thrilling him and making his hand pull faster. Kurt wants him, wanted him so badly last night that he had to come, couldn’t wait, wants him so badly now that he isn’t satisfied with just watching. Blaine’s orgasm hits, rushing through him and leaving him weak and trembling, forehead resting against the cool tile.

He hears Kurt finish, feels sad that he missed it, but then Kurt is up and naked and stumbling into the shower to give Blaine a messy, morning breath sour, off-center kiss and Blaine doesn’t feel sad at all.

Kurt pulls away with his arms looped over Blaine’s shoulders. “Morning.”

“Good morning, indeed.”

“The party was fun.” Kurt says, stroking softly at the nape of Blaine’s neck.

“So I gathered.” Blaine grins, settles his arms around Kurt’s naked waist. “We owe Elliott coffee for getting you home.”

Kurt grimaces. “I’m not looking forward to that story.”

Blaine is still a little sad that he missed the fun, that he missed Kurt having fun. But he’s reminded of the need for them to have their own space and their own stories to tell, that as long as they come back to each other they’ll be fine.

“Oh, I am,” Blaine says, and grabs his ass in both palms. “I bet you were a handful.”

“Wow.” Kurt slides him a look and backs away to grab the shampoo. “That was terrible.”

“Hard to deal with?”

“Go to class, Blaine.”

Blaine laughs and kisses his cheek before he starts shampooing. “Love you.”

Kurt turns his head to get at Blaine’s mouth. “Love you too.”

Blaine gets out, towels off, and says, “Strip show. Check?”

“Mmmm…Let’s go with check,” Kurt says. “Close enough.”


	9. Chapter 9

Kurt’s not leaving anything up to chance this time; No sudden rain showers, no awkward visits to a sex shop, no alcohol, no classes or parties or work getting in the way. He has a plan, and he intends on seeing it through.

“So, you shower. Then come to me where I’ll be waiting on the bed. You crawl over me. We sixty-nine. I fuck, you fuck, done.” Kurt juts his chin decisively. He can feel Blaine watching him.

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I try,” Kurt turns away from the bed and grins at him. “Now hurry up and get to it, the clock is ticking.”

It’s nice, he thinks as he waits, being naked without any urgency to it. Kurt folds his clothes and crawls onto the bed, rests on his back and runs his fingers along the curve of his own hipbones, the notches of his ribs in an arc. Scrapes across his nipples and up his neck, then stretches out his arms and legs with a sigh. The sheets are clean and soft and smell like lavender, his skin still with traces of honey and caramel soap and nourishing coconut shampoo from his own recent shower. He smells delicious. He can’t wait to taste it on Blaine.

The window is open, but the gauzy curtains closed and dancing lazily in an afternoon breeze. It’s quiet, or New York quiet anyway, nothing he can’t push to the edges of his mind like white noise after being here for a couple years now. The shower shuts off and Kurt is sure he could fall asleep. Wonders if Blaine would be able to ever keep his hands to himself if Kurt slept naked. Walked around the house naked. Cooked naked. Kurt smiles at the thought. They’d never get anything done.

He hears Blaine pad back into the room, smiles even wider to himself, keeps his eyes closed.

“Something funny?”

The bed dips at his stomach and his head, Blaine warm and heavy and fragrant hovering over him.

“Us as nudists,” Kurt says and finds Blaine by touch; the fuzzy backs of his thick thighs, rounded fleshy globes of his ass, hard ropes of muscles along his back.

“I’m good with that,” Blaine says, words going a little husky already.

Kurt finally opens his eyes to Blaine close enough to kiss, softly curled plump lips and damp hair combed back and eyes turned gold in the muted sunlight through the curtains. He moves his hands down Blaine’s arms. “I like my clothes too much, I think.”

Blaine tips his head so it hangs down lower. “Just as well. We’d never get anything done.”

Kurt knows he can’t expect Blaine to read his mind, that communicating with actual words is something they always, always have to be mindful of. But he forgets sometimes, because Blaine is so good at just getting it.

Kurt pulls at the loose skin on Blaine’s elbows just because it makes him scrunch his nose up. “Turn around?”

Blaine searches his face. “Yeah?”

Kurt bites his lip and nods, then cages his head in with his arms while Blaine rearranges himself so he doesn’t get a knee to his nose. When he settles Kurt relaxes, hands placed on Blaine’s thighs again but eyes open and the view is- Well.

“Is um-” Blaine’s voice has gone a little high and breathy. Nervous. “Is this okay?”

Kurt answers by rubbing his palms up Blaine’s legs, the front and over around to the back, soothing but with a purpose. His skin turns softer, less hairy just at the sweet little curve at the tops of his thighs, and under his hands Blaine’s ass is firm and round and paler than the rest of his skin. They should try nude sunbathing. Kurt hums happily. “So okay.”

“Right,” Blaine says, and then he’s shifting, balancing on one hand and lifting Kurt’s hardening cock from his belly. “I’m just gonna-” Warm breath puffs over the head before Blaine wraps his lips over and suckles.

Kurt forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Blaine’s mouth is hot and wet and he’s so good at it, why do they ever do anything else when Blaine gives such tremendous blowjobs? Kurt groans and digs his fingers into the give of Blaine’s ass, his hole pulsing soft against Kurt’s fingertips, and then he remembers.

The angle is awkward and it strains his neck, but no matter, the first long lick where Blaine is hottest and softest makes him moan against the skin, which makes Blaine groan around his cock, which then makes Kurt thrust up into his mouth.

Which throws their whole balance off.

Kurt’s dick pops out of his mouth, and Blaine teeters to the side. “Shoot, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, yanks his ass back closer and dives in again, broad licks up and down, smaller flicks of his tongue around and in and Kurt never thought he would enjoy this so much but everytime he can’t get enough, just the taste of him there; earthy and salty and like sex. God.

“Kurt, Kurt, oh,” Blaine is trying, and failing, to get his mouth over Kurt’s cock again, just sort of holding it against his bottom lip. “I can’t- Focus- Oh.”

Kurt backs off a little, a few more soft passes of his tongue until Blaine takes him into his mouth, gets a rhythm going, bobbing down and sucking up, tonguing around the crown and the head before bobbing down again.

He tries to not lose himself to it again, reaches under Blaine to fondle his balls, gently stroke his cock, but soon Kurt’s hips are twitching and white hot electricity is building in his stomach and groin and thighs. Kurt whimpers and cranes up, spreads Blaine’s ass with his fingers and his hole with his thumbs and presses his tongue inside-

“Fu-uck,” Blaine goes off balance again, jerks sideways and this time Kurt doesn’t catch him in time. He crashes to his side, one arm pinned awkwardly beneath him and a leg across Kurt’s chest. He huffs a laugh. “Sorry. You’re really good at that.”

 

Kurt pats the tight ball of muscle at Blaine’s calf. “So are you. Is it is possible we’re too skilled for sixty-nining?”

“That must be it,” Blaine says.

“Now what?” Kurt gives his leg a shove, and Blaine shifts so he’s curled on his side, still turned so he’s the yin to Kurt’s yang, nuzzles his way up and in between Kurt’s legs, runs his open lips up the shaft of Kurt’s cock. 

“Lube?” He pops his head up and smiles sweetly and Kurt’s heart gives an off-beat thump. He gropes on the table behind him for the lube, twisting around and knocking things over while Blaine’s mouth chases his cock like some kind of magnet. It seems like an eternity before he manages to grab the lube and pass it down to Blaine.

“How am I supposed to concentrate when you- Ungh,” Kurt tries to chastise him, but he has to admit it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Hey now, where’s that Kurt Hummel hell-or-high water determination?” Blaine says and smirks and swallows his cock again. And again. And before Kurt even realizes it Blaine’s opened the lube and has managed to get some out.Two fingers push inside, moving to the same in, in, out beat as his mouth, fingering Kurt open as he sucks him down. It feels so good, so full and so hot and so tight and so good.

“I’m gonna come,” Kurt says on an exhale, looking down at Blaine’s compact body curled upside down around his, dark head moving between Kurt’s thighs, one arm slung over Kurt’s legs, fingers fucking into him out of sight. His chest is against Kurt’s knees and his own cock rock hard and beading cloudy fluid at the slit. Kurt turns closer and moves toward it, licks up the precome but can’t manage much more that that.

Blaine moves away before Kurt can figure out how to get at him better, sitting up and watching Kurt with his chest expanding in harsh breaths, fisting his cock to slick it then pushing Kurt’s knees up and wide and shuffling into the space. He holds his cock at the base and nudges the blunt tip inside just to the rim.

“Wait,” Kurt says, hand flat to his stomach. Blaine freezes instantly, snaps his head up. Kurt smiles and pets at the little rounded turn of his belly. “Lube. Please.”

The bottle seems to have ended up somewhere behind Blaine’s feet at the end of the bed, and he tries to reach it without pulling out. He doesn’t, but it was a valiant effort all the same.

“Your lubricant, sir,” Blaine says, handing it over with a little flourish. Kurt laughs and rolls his eyes and then Blaine is shuffling back into position, one hand hooked to the back of Kurt’s right knee and one on his cock, pushes in and in and Kurt bites his lip, closes his eyes and holds the lube in a white knuckled grip as he adjusts to the stretch.

“Breathe,” Blaine says, dropping onto his hands and moving his hips in slow circles. Kurt releases a gust of air he hadn’t meant to hold in and focuses on relaxing his entire body. Blaine starts slow, long drags in and out and back in, and Kurt is still just on the edge of slight discomfort and pleasure, so he’s able to open the lube and squeeze some out, bends his body both so Blaine can go deeper and harder and he can reach around to Blaine’s ass.

He doesn’t have to do much, lets Blaine fuck into him and then back against his fingers, moves his wrist to meet Blaine’s thrusts and before long he’s three fingers deep, sliding into hazy numbed pleasure as Blaine fucks him, wild and uncoordinated and it’s not long, not long before he growls and drops his head to Kurt’s neck, bites down on Kurt’s most sensitive spot there and comes with a string of aborted thrusts and choppy moans.

Blaine is still orgasm heavy and loose when Kurt wiggles out from under him, presses him flat to his stomach and plasters himself over Blaine’s back. He’s so pliant that Kurt can slide his cock inside smoothly, maneuvers Blaine’s hips up at an angle and threads their fingers together, pins Blaine’s hands up over his head on the pillow and starts to thrust.

Forehead set against the valley between Blaine’s shoulder blades and panting into his skin, Kurt knows it won’t take long. His ass still tingling and wet, his cock engulfed in perfect gripping heat. He can feel Blaine’s cheeks bouncing against his hips like this, just taking it, breathy little whines streaming from his throat and it’s too much, too good, too hot, too tight. Kurt falls over before he’s ready, stilling his hips and coming deep inside Blaine.

They don’t manage any sort of conversation for a while after that. Kurt’s skin stops buzzing and his ears stop ringing. His breathing evens out and his skin cools. He feels wonderfully blissed out and lazy, and assumes Blaine feels the same, given that he hasn’t made any effort to turn himself right side up or move his face from where it’s still smashed into the pillow.

“Okay over there?” Kurt finally asks.

Blaine gives a muffled grunt.

“So. Does the sixty-nining have to be done to completion to count? Because we can safely cross of switching but…”

Another muffled grunt. Kurt frowns and kicks at his ankle. Blaine lifts his head and pushes up on his elbows. “I think it counts if we say it counts.”

“I guess…” Kurt folds his hands over his stomach and stares up at the ceiling.

“Do you not think it counts?”

When he looks over Blaine is closer, not quite snuggled into Kurt’s chest. Kurt moves his arm so Blaine can fold himself into his side. “I guess I sort of… Wanted one time where everything went exactly to plan. Isn’t that the point of crossing something off a predetermined list?”

He can feel Blaine shrug against his ribs. “I think… The whole point was for us to be close and try new things and other than that- I’m kind of glad that it’s been a little fumbling. It’s nice to just… not have to be perfect sometimes. For me.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says. And he’s right. The list was just a starting point, after all. Just like before when it was a means to be closer and to focus on each other. “I still want to get the hang of it. Sixty-nine. I’m definitely going to make you come first.”

“Oh you think so, do you?” Blaine index finger circles his belly button, traces the outline of hipbones and abdominal muscles low on Kurt’s torso. “I accept that challenge.”

Kurt turns to face him, lifts an eyebrow in reply and then leans in for a kiss. “Okay but first post-sex cheesecake and mindless television that involves judging people we don’t know.”

“Sounds perfect,” Blaine says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “And then one more not-perfect sexy summer list item?”

He looks over and catches Blaine standing in profile, shadowed by the backlit sun, naked and handsome and all Kurt’s. He smiles and echoes, “Perfect.”


	10. Chapter 10

The ferry bellows and the gate is lifted and then they’re shuffled on board with the crowd, off the pier and onto the ship deck.

“Starboard,” Kurt announces, and gives some sort of jaunty salute. “Or is it port? I can never keep them straight.”

“Port,” Blaine says, and then he’s swept up the stairs and away from Kurt with a huge extended family that chatters happily the whole way and before he knows it he’s on the second floor of the ferry, trying to snag two seats together before he loses Kurt entirely.

He would have preferred a spot on the deck outside, but at least it smells a little less like gasoline and fish guts in here. The air conditioning doesn’t hurt, either. Blaine sits in a sticky vinyl seat next to the thick plastic window, crosses one knee over the other and cranes his head over the seat in front of him to locate Kurt.

Finally he appears, scowling a little but no worse for the wear, in his “nautical-themed” outfit: Navy snug-fit hooded sweater and shorts in stripes of white on white on slightly darker white with a blue and white striped belt. He has a neckerchief printed with little anchors tied around his throat, white boots and a straw boater hat placed so that his bangs lift like the crest of a wave over the brim.

He still never fails to make Blaine’s heart leap into his throat.

Kurt fidgets and sighs behind the slow-moving crowd of people negotiating seating arrangements or just outright standing in aisles and chatting with no thought to the push behind them. Kurt glares at the ferry in general and Blaine smiles to himself, beckons him over the top of the seat.

“How hard is it to sit?” Kurt drops down next to him after shoving his way through, touches his hair, pulls the knot of the neckerchief a little more to the left, smooths his hands down his shirt and shorts.

“They’re excited,” Blaine points out, the cabin filled with laughter and conversation and burbling energy over the low rumble of the ferry’s motor.

Kurt tilts his head and scans the crowd. “It’s a ferry to Rockaway Beach, not a cruise to Bora Bora.”

Blaine uncrosses his legs, shifts and recrosses them in the other direction to face Kurt. He notices for the first time that Kurt’s sweater has a little gold anchor stitched on it, right in the center of his chest. Blaine reaches out and strokes it; the raised shape, the softer fabric around.

“Do you want to go to Bora Bora? Like for our honeymoon?”

Kurt bites his lip and grins and his eyes dance happily, over to Blaine and out the window where the water laps against the boat and seagulls turn in wide circles above. “I like when you say honeymoon.”

Blaine traces the little gold anchor with his finger, then the engine ramps up and the boat starts to move. “Honeymoon,” he says, with a voice that’s low and seductive and makes Kurt huff and smile and look all around them.

He considers, then ducks his head and leans in to give Blaine a peck on the lips, more than what he usually dares in a space that he’s unsure of. Kurt pulls away with pink cheeks, and the setting sun glitters on the waves as the ferry takes them away from the city for a night.

It’s like that from then on: little touches and moments of affection freely given. Not that Kurt withholds exactly, but Blaine knows Kurt’s need for touch is fulfilled much easier than his. Where Blaine will hold and hug and caress and cuddle and yearn still, Kurt tucks away every touch like a semi-precious stone to carry with him wherever he goes. For him that’s enough, so Blaine knows he’s consciously making the effort.

“You look great, by the way,” Blaine says, on solid ground now and meandering the boardwalk. The beach is clean and not too crowded, shockingly close to a quaint beachside town for a neighborhood in Queens.

“We both do,” Kurt says, presses close so their shoulders brush. “Like two gentlemen off for a jaunt on our private yacht. To Bora Bora.”

Blaine grins and takes his hand, briny sea air swirls around them and a bike passes on their left with a ring off a trilling bell. “This is nice.”

Kurt grips his hand more securely, arm twined around his and hips bumping as they walk. “It is.”

They eat fish tacos and drink pink lemonade on a picnic table with swear words written in black marker and branded with hearts containing the names and initials of people who sat here just like them, maybe on a date just like they are; the second one or the hundredth. Something new or something well-worn; shaped and smoothed like sea glass, but still strong enough to withstand hurricanes and the lashing of waves and the thundering feet of crowd after crowd of people.

Kurt pulls his keys from his pocket and etches KH + BA 4 EVER

Blaine traces the indented lines with two fingers, then rests his palm on Kurt’s hand. Kurt pulls it closer and strokes Blaine’s knuckles with his thumb. Blaine thinks about forever, about loving Kurt in this lifetime and the next and in other people’s lifetimes, too. People who loved each other just like they do. Within, without. 4 EVER.

They ditch their shoes and Kurt’s hat and walk along the shore where the tide is falling in and out, splashing cool up to their ankles and higher, then retreating back once again. Kurt yelps when a slimy strand of seaweed twists itself around his foot, then kicks a spray of water at Blaine for laughing at his terror.

Blaine chases him, hem of his pants getting soaked from the splashing as he runs, hooks Kurt around the waist and pulls him close. Kisses his nose and the cleft of his chin and both cheeks that dimple as he laughs.

It’s getting dark, even darker here down the beach and away from the boardwalk, but Blaine kisses Kurt’s mouth and feels as bright and brilliant as always.

“Ice cream?” Kurt asks against his lips.

“Ice cream,” Blaine echos.

Blaine gets strawberry, Kurt gets Mexican chili chocolate. They sit in the cool sand and swap cones from time to time, watch the waves and the people and listen to rap music floating in from somewhere in the distance. There’s a bonfire nearby, flames licking into the sky and tugging people in like moths.

“Do you still want to hit that club?” Blaine asks, turning his head to nibble the cone.

Kurt hums, finishes his ice cream and leans back on his hands. He frowns and lifts them back up. “Sticky,” he says, brushing sand away.

He stretches his legs out, wiggles his sandy toes and looks down at his thighs before reaching into his pocket. It’s the summer bucket list, folded and unfolded and refolded so many times now that the paper is worn and heavily creased, torn in places and wrinkled.

“I changed the last item,” Kurt says, handing it to Blaine. He squints at it in the dark, holds it up to the light from the fire but can’t quite make it out.

Kurt uses his phone to illuminate the words.

They’d written exhibitionism and then crossed it out, decided that show everyone how much we want each other had a better feel to it. Or Kurt did.

“Six of one, half dozen of another,” Blaine had said.

Kurt had pressed his thumb on the bottom of the pen, inked point of it retracting back into the chamber with finality. “Stop thinking about cronuts,” he’d said.

And Blaine had scoffed and gently shoved him, and Kurt shoved him back less gently and since they were on the bed anyway- The list stayed as it was.

Now in the glow of Kurt’s iPhone on the beach that’s growing cooler and darker with each passing minute, Blaine reads:

10\. Show Blaine how much I love him.

Blaine’s chest pulls tight, affection and guilt and relief at war there. He folds the paper and hands it back. “I know,” he says with a voice gone thick.

Kurt lifts one shoulder, turns his chin to rest it there and brushes off his sticky, sandy hands again. “Just in case.”

“Okay,” Blaine says and falls in love with Kurt all over again with the moon full in the night sky and the ocean crashing and a fire crackling and sand in his shorts.

They don’t go to the club, but back the shallows, kiss and kiss and kiss in the waves where anyone can see until Blaine’s neck is sore and his lips tingle and his feet feel like blocks of ice. They leave to catch the last ferry of the night, and the trip back is quiet and much less crowded, Blaine’s head resting on Kurt’s shoulder, Kurt’s hand tucked into the crook of Blaine’s elbow.

Finally back at home with the night heading towards daybreak they walk through the loft in darkness, just the lights spilling in from outside across the floorboards and walls, yellow and white and flashes of neon. They get ready for bed, still connected through Kurt’s hand on the small of Blaine’s back as he brushes his teeth, his arm slung low on Kurt’s waist while he’s bent over the sink to wash his face. He pulls off Kurt’s sweater, his neckerchief, his shorts. Kurt unbuttons Blaine’s shirt and shorts, slides them off his shoulders and hips.

They slip under the covers, come back together in the dark. Kissing now sharp and biting and open, groans in the silence, stripping naked beneath the sheets and hands on cocks. Kurt moves over him, presses him down into the bed and kisses him the way that makes it hard for Blaine to breathe or move or do anything but give up and slip beneath the tug of Kurt’s riptide, pulling him under, exactly where he wants to be.

Kurt slings a leg over Blaine’s hip, his cock sliding along Blaine’s, swollen soft head nudging his balls and up the shaft and beneath the crown. Kurt gets his hand around both of them and Blaine moans and lifts his hips and latches his mouth onto Kurt’s jaw.

“Oh, that’s good,” Kurt says with a laugh. They don’t do this much, not anymore; just rub on each other or stroke without it being a prologue to something else: rubbing together before Kurt goes to his knees between Blaine’s legs and gets his lips around Blaine’s cock, Blaine jerking Kurt to full hardness so he can climb over him and fuck himself on Kurt’s cock.

But they roll their bodies in waves, and kiss like they have to and grip tight like they can’t let go. Blaine flushes with liquid heat and feels himself being tugged ever closer, thinks of the anchor on Kurt’s shirt right over his heart, the worn and tattered paper with number ten crossed out twice. He cradles Kurt’s face and sucks his bottom lip and pushes his hips up, Kurt hot and hard and heavy and solid. The perfect night, even with every perfect night before that, every not perfect night, and all the ones yet to be.

“I love you,” Blaine says on sigh, rolls his hips again and comes between their bellies.

Kurt groans and gasps and ruts and ruts and soon follows. In the giggly, goofy aftermath Blaine mostly wants to clean off and fall asleep draped over Kurt’s back, but first he tiptoes to the bathroom still naked, finds Kurt’s pants in the hamper and rescues the list from certain destruction on the next laundry day. He finds a pen and makes one last correction.

He crawls back into bed, shows the list to Kurt under soft lamplight.

“I know,” Kurt says, sets it down on the bedside table, shuts off the light and scoots back into Blaine’s waiting arms. Blaine sets his nose to the nape of Kurt’s neck and exhales.

The list reads: 10. I love him.

“Just in case,” Blaine says, holds him tight and closes his eyes.

_Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sunrise would kill me, If I could not now and always send the sunrise out of me._


End file.
